


Touch-a Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Chuck Needs a Hug, Cussing, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern AU, Snark, a little smut, and he's getting it whether he wants it or not, cameos by other beloved characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc is desperate. He can understand Chuck not wanting anything to do with him, but the kid has deliberately shoved away everyone who might have gotten close to him and is determinedly alone in the world. So, he decides to talk to his ol' pal, Stacker Pentecost, who happens to run a private therapy center that offers a new, experimental treatment for people in Chuck's position.</p><p>Pentecost's star caseworker? Raleigh "call me Cuddles" Becket. As Captain Jack Sparrow would say, complications arose and ensued.</p><p>From <a href="http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/147079316017/murphyhatesme-strikersindanger">this prompt</a> from you tumblr rat bastards. *snerk*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xero_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xero_Sky/gifts), [StrikersInDanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikersInDanger/gifts), [lizlybear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizlybear/gifts).



> Look at [this adorable fanart](https://meesedraw.tumblr.com/post/155785241998/alright-so-i-read-gutterballgt-s-story-touch-a) [ftmiura](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ftmiura/pseuds/ftmiura) drew for this story! They look so cozy together. It's perfect!

Herc Hansen fidgeted in the cushy armchair, not used to either comfort or plush surroundings. Or waiting, for that matter. He had always been a man of action, and his recent retirement... wore on him.

But this wasn't about him. And it was _important._

Back straight -- as if leaning back in the chair's cushioned embrace would be abandoning a fortification -- he forced himself to stillness tried to focus on the task at hand, rather than the need to get up and pace the room instead of sitting here like a...

...civilian. Which he was. As of three months ago.

Thankfully, before he could grit his teeth hard enough to grind them down, the door opened and his old friend, Stacker Pentecost, strode through. Stacker never just walked anywhere. The man contained an almost tangible sense of intensity and urgency in his large frame.

He didn't walk. He _strode_.

"Herc." The deep voice held a hint of a smile, but that stoic face didn't. "Long time, no see."

Herc stood, glad to have reason to do so, and managed a tight smile as he held out his hand for a good shake. "Stacker. Good to see you. You've not changed a bit."

Now, he smiled. "Indeed I have, or you wouldn't be here."

Some of the tension eased out of him, and he finally grinned a bit. "True enough. I'm really not sure about all this."

"I know. But I'm glad you're here." Stacker gestured toward the armchair. "Please, have a seat and we'll talk."

Herc did so, and his old friend went around to the other side of his sturdy, dignified desk to sit down, as well. He felt a bit less twitchy, but the softness of the chair under his ass still made him feel like he was in the wrong place.

"So. Chuck."

Sighing, he tried not to sit so ramrod straight, though he couldn't quite lean back. "Chuck. He's never been... the easiest kid." Understatement. "I dunno. Maybe I should've left him with Angela's mum and dad. Maybe I should've done like she wanted and retired early. Hell if I know."

"Herc. What's done is done. All you can deal with is what's in front of you."

And what was in front of him was his angry, antagonistic son who had systematically pushed away anyone who might have wanted to get close to him. Including Herc.

Finally, he managed to slump enough to feel the cushion against his back. "I fucked up, Stacker. Angela's probably rolling in her grave to see how he is now. And I can't even blame him for blaming me. For all I know, he's right."

Stacker clasped his hands together and leaned his forearms on his desk, those dark eyes intense. "You staying in service did not shorten her life. It wasn't true then and it isn't true now."

He shrugged and stared at the desk's edge. "Might've seen the symptoms sooner."

"The doctors all said she didn't _have_ symptoms. Not glaring ones, anyway. She was just as stunned by the diagnosis as you were. As Chuck was."

Stage Four cancer. By the time the doctor found it, it had spread so far he couldn't tell where it started. Two months later, she was gone.

And Chuck had never forgiven him. Not for her death, and not for refusing to retire from the RAAF, and not for dragging him from one base to the next to the next before the poor kid could figure out how to grieve. And continuing to sporadically uproot him for the next ten years.

Yeah. He fucked up. He'd thought keeping Chuck with him would provide some sort of stability, but he'd only managed to leave the kid rootless and friendless. And retiring now to live in the same neighborhood was too little, too late, as Chuck was fond of pointing out.

"Whatever." Because Stacker was right. He couldn't fix any of that. He could only move forward. "Just... he's never been close to anyone, and he needs that. And he sure as hell doesn't want it from me."

Sighing, he gave into decadence completely and sank fully against the chair's cushy back. He almost wished it would swallow him whole.

"So he's not formed any friendships, any relationships of his own?"

"No." Rubbing his forehead, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Says he doesn't need anyone. He's always done just fine on his own." He couldn't help a bitter snort. "Wink wink, thanks for all but abandoning me in damn near every military base around the globe, old man."

An awkward quiet fell between them. Eventually, Herc looked up and was surprised by the sympathy on Stacker's usually stoic face. Maybe the bloke really _had_ changed.

"Anyway, I hoped maybe he'd get together with one of his one night stands, but he never even stays the night. Just gets his fuck and gets out." Tired, he again rubbed his forehead. "Never gets _close_ to anyone. Never touches anyone outside a quick fuck, and even that's likely about as hands-off as possible. Never lets anyone touch back." His hand dropped into his lap. "Even me."

They were quiet for a moment. Then, Stacker sighed.

"You know this only works if the client wants it to, right? If Chuck doesn't _want_ to be close to anyone, he won't let it happen, no matter what you do."

Herc shook his head. "I don't think he remembers how it feels. I think if he did, he _would_ want it." Smiling bitterly, he met Stacker's intent gaze. "The hardest part will be getting him to agree to it."

For a moment, his old friend's eyes narrowed, and Herc braced for the rejection he knew he probably deserved. Then, Stacker's expression cleared.

"I think I have just the thing."

Herc blinked. "What's that, then?"

That smile was... slightly terrifying, actually. He wasn't sure if he was comforted or even less confident in his plan.

"An employee with a 4.9-out-of-5-star rating and the ability to piss Chuck off enough to agree to just about anything out of spite."

Feeling suddenly better, Herc snorted.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why are you still here?"

Chuck crossed his arms and glared at his old man, more and more suspicious as the wanker didn't get up to leave, like he usually would to avoid any unpleasantness. His suspicions were further roused when, instead of getting that godawful kicked-in-the-gut look and heading for the door, the old bastard just checked his watch and smiled.

"Thought I'd help with the dishes this time, yeah?" And he actually stood up and piled the plates and silverware together. "You cooked, so I'll wash."

Unmoving, Chuck glared. "I cook every week. You never wash."

"Well, that's my fault, then. You done with that glass?"

"No." He was. "You're acting weird. What's going on?"

"Just trying to do better by you, son." Back to, the old man ran some water in the sink and squirted in the dish soap. His shoulders were tense, but that wasn't surprising. Him still being there, though, certainly was. "I know I've made mistakes. Just trying to sort it out before it's too late, yeah?"

 _It already is,_ he wanted to say. The words were on the tip of his tongue.

But even at his worst, he couldn't quite say them. He'd tried. He'd hinted around. He'd been sarcastic and rude and borderline hateful, but he couldn't quite bring himself to kick his old man completely out of his life. He wasn't sure why.

Maybe because he knew how his mum would glare at him when they met up in the hereafter, if there was one.

So he didn't say it, and he didn't even let himself think it for long. Instead, he stood, drained his glass, and took it over to where his old man stood at the sink. Without a word, he set it down to wash, then took up a dish towel and started drying. He hadn't even gotten to the silverware when his doorbell rang.

His doorbell _never_ rang. Herc only ever knocked, and Chuck didn't really know anyone else. Well, there was the occasional take-out delivery person who rang the bell, but he hadn't ordered anything.

So who...?

"You gonna get that? My hands are soapy."

His eyes narrowed at the deliberately casual tone. He glared, knowing the old bastard was up to something, but Herc refused to look at him. Just kept on washing that last glass as if it'd contained tar instead of ice water.

But it was easy enough to toss the damp towel in his old man's face and walk away on the half-annoyed, half-amused "Oi!" it caused. He didn't bother looking through the peephole, either. Whoever was at the door was clearly expected. At least, by _one_ of them.

Even if he'd been prepared, he could never have expected the tall, broad, blue-eyed, blond piece of gorgeous standing in his doorway. A dark blue jumper made those eyes gleam like sapphires, and faded jeans hugged narrow hips and thighs that would make a porn star jealous. Unconcerned by Chuck's blatant, wide-eyed appraisal, the bloke smiled like a warm blanket, the corners of those pretty eyes crinkling, and offered his hand for a shake.

"Are you Chuck?"

Incredulous, he turned back to his old man and blurted the only thought that came to mind. "Jesus, Dad, did you order me a hooker?"

"Chuck!" Herc slapped a wet hand to his forehead, oblivious to the suds left behind. "Jesus, kid, do you have _any_ manners?"

"I guess this is the place."

Unsure whether he was mortified or furious, Chuck shot the gorgeous stranger a look and found him smirking. What a wanker. At least he'd taken his hand back and stuffed it in his pocket. Which drew Chuck's attention that way. Which was a mistake.

He jerked his attention back to his father, who was trying to dry both his hands and his forehead with a damp hand towel. "Seriously, old man. What have you done?"

Tossing the towel aside, Herc strolled across to the door, then offered the stranger a hand. "Chuck, meet Raleigh. He's a professional cuddler. _Not_ a hooker. Jesus."

The bloke, Raleigh, shook the old man's hand readily enough, still smirking a bit. "To clarify, the company I work for provides non-sexual, consensual closeness and touch therapy to people who find it difficult to get that intimacy from their own lives, for whatever reason."

Unimpressed -- and more than a bit mortified that his own father thought he needed such a service -- Chuck crossed his arms, again refusing to shake the offered hand. "Touch therapy. How is that not prostitution?"

"Chuck, that's enough." Uh-oh. Herc wasn't smiling anymore.

"It's all right, Mr. Hansen." Dammit. The moron didn't even have the grace to look offended. "Plenty of people misunderstand our services. And more than a few try to push us away out of fear of the very closeness they need."

"Oi, you better not think you're talking about me, pretty." Because he did _not_ need closeness, and if this wanker tried to cuddle him, he'd tear his arms off. "Dad, seriously, what the fuck?"

"You push everyone away, Chuck. It's not healthy. I'm desperate."

Jesus, were they really talking about this in front of a goddamn stranger his father had apparently paid to fucking _hug_ him? Why wouldn't the ground open up and swallow him whole? It'd be so much better than this torture.

"Then why don't _you_ cuddle the bastard and leave me the fuck out of it?"

Ugh. He hated it when his old man looked him right in the eye.

"Because I'm not the one refusing to hug my last living relative."

_Don't do it, Chuck._

"Uncle Scott's not dead."

_Too far. Even for you._

And it was. Herc closed up like a steel trap, his shoulders drawing up and squaring. "He might as well be."

"Gentlemen?"

Chuck wanted to lash out at the interruption, but in truth, he was grateful for it. It gave him an excuse to forget exactly how far out of bounds he'd stepped by bringing the disgraced brother into the conversation.

"Oi, what?"

Herc fumed silently, still glaring at Chuck.

"Our services are one hundred percent consensual. They have to be, or they'll only reinforce the block keeping the client from finding intimacy in their regular lives." The bloke's kind, open expression shifted, but Chuck couldn't make out what had changed. Something around the mouth. "So, if you're currently too afraid of closeness to engage in it voluntarily--"

That. Bastard.

"Fuck you, ya ratbag. What the fuck do you know about it?"

_"Chuck--"_

"--you should probably just keep our number and call when you _are_ ready."

Smug. That's what that stupid fucking expression was. The wanker looked smug as fuck, and Chuck suddenly yearned to knock that look right off that pretty face.

"I'm not scared, jackass!"

Now it was a smug smile instead of smug, phony seriousness. "You're not? Great. Then we should get started. Mr. Hansen, you should probably go. I think he'll be more comfortable if you're not here."

"Right. Thanks, Raleigh."

Before Chuck could process enough of his fluster to protest, the two conspirators shook hands and traded places, and his old man buggered off, leaving him alone with a stranger he'd paid to hug him.

What. The. Fuck.

Maybe that was a good question to ask. "Oi, what the fuck?"

"Don't worry. We'll build up to actual contact. You have to be comfortable, or it won't work for you. Again, it'll just reinforce the block." That fucking smile. "Now, where are you most comfortable in your home?"

Boggled and half-wishing Herc had stuck around -- either for protection or so Chuck could punch him for whatever the fuck was happening right now -- Chuck gestured toward the couch off to the right. His kitchen, dining room, and living room were all one open space (except for the long counter extending between the dining room and kitchen), and a hallway led back to a bedroom on either side and a bathroom at the end of the hall, and all of it felt safe enough, he supposed. Though, if he really thought about it, he probably felt _most_ comfortable in his own bed.

But no way in hell was he inviting this random bloke into his bedroom. _No one_ went into his bedroom, even his old man. On the rare occasion he needed to scratch the itch, he went to a hook-up. He never, ever let them come to him. That way, he could leave whenever he wanted. No fuss, no muss.

But now, this wanker.

At least the rotten sod didn't sit on the couch. Instead, he gestured for Chuck to do so and sat in the armchair off to one side, legs sprawled comfortably and arms laid along the chair's arms. If Chuck weren't so off his mark, he might admire the view. As it was, he was doing good to sit on the far end of the couch without missing it completely and falling on his ass.

"I know this is a lot to take in, but I do want you to be comfortable. Sometimes, knowing everything involved helps. You'll feel like you have some control of the situation."

Damn if the wanker wasn't right. So, instead of biting back, Chuck just shrugged awkwardly.

"Your father contracted with the company I work with for a relatively new type of service: Private, Practical Directed Contact. He's paid in advance for two one-hour sessions per week for a month."

Jesus. That had to be expensive as hell. His old man just retired three months ago. Sure, Herc had one hell of a retirement allowance saved up from his many, many years of service, and they'd always lived frugally since they usually lived on one base or another and had no housing expenses, but why would he blow a significant chunk of that savings on fucking hugs?

"Mr. Hansen did give us a bit of background so we could better understand what you need to get out of this form of therapy. I understand that will probably make you uncomfortable and angry, but I wanted you to know. You have to trust me, or this won't work."

It was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He sat up straight and glared. "Oi, what the fuck did he tell you?"

Jesus, those eyes. They suddenly looked sympathetic as hell, and Chuck braced himself.

"That your mother died suddenly of inoperable Stage Four cancer, and that if he'd retired from service when she asked him to, he might have noticed the symptoms in time to save her. That you both blame him for it. That you pushed him away, then pushed everyone else away, refusing to get close to anyone who might hurt you again by leaving like that."

He stared, feeling scooped hollow. No one had ever put it all out like that, and he felt... nothing. Yet. But he was pretty sure that when he did feel something, it'd be the worst feeling ever.

...Herc blamed himself? Maybe _didn't_ blame Chuck for blaming him?

What did he even do with that?

Swallowing hard, he stared at the intrusive bastard watching him with such blatant sympathy. "Are you a psychiatrist?"

"No." A modest shrug. "I'm not even a therapist, fully. I have my master's in psychology, but I haven't done the residency. I don't want to practice, so I don't need it."

He didn't want to be curious. But it was better than talking about himself.

"Why don't you want to practice?"

The bloke grinned a bit and looked down finally. "Most people I went to class with got into psychology to figure themselves out rather than to figure out everyone else. Yeah, they want to help others, but they also want to deal with their own issues."

Yes. A weakness. Sitting forward, Chuck attacked. "You got issues, then?"

"Only as many as National Geographic." The grin turned to wry amusement. "My brother and I were almost killed in a military operation, and because I was the one who volunteered us for the assignment, it was my fault." The wry grin faded. "He says not, but I know better."

Well, shit. Using that against the bloke -- especially when he'd been so open about it -- would be as low as bringing up Uncle Scott had been.

Besides, he reckoned the admission made them even. This pretty bastard knew Chuck's, and now Chuck knew his. And he might well be an asshole, but he wasn't devoid of a sense of fair play.

"Right. So... what happens now?"

The warm smile came back, though it didn't seem to reach all the way to the bloke's eyes this time. "That depends on you. If you want, we can stay just like this and keep talking."

His eyes widened. Thankfully, the bloke -- what had his old man called him? started with an R, hadn't it? -- saw how appalled Chuck was with that suggestion, because he chuckled.

"Or I can sit on this end of the couch, and we can watch a movie or something until you're comfortable with more."

Relief washed over him, leaving him feeling almost faint. "That. Let's do that. Jesus."

And it was... okay. Not great. It was weird to have another person in his space. Chuck had deliberately never invited anyone in besides his old man, and even that was more obligation than genuine desire for company. He couldn't help but be horribly aware of his every movement, every facial expression, wondering if the bloke was staring at him because he didn't dare look that way to check.

But said bloke just sat at the other end of the couch, quiet except for occasional chuckles at the movie. Not that Chuck had any idea what he'd put on. He couldn't have repeated a single line of dialogue if someone had a gun to his head. He'd never felt more awkward or pokered up in his life.

Soon enough -- well before the end of the movie -- the bloke stood and stretched. Chuck couldn't help but look, though he did manage to glance away before he was caught. The jumper hadn't ridden up high enough to show skin, but it _had_ neatly uncovered a frankly fantastic ass.

Dammit. Soooo not the time.

He jerked to his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. It seemed the only safe place as they walked to the door. Once there, the bloke paused and put on his more professional expression.

"Your father suggested Tuesday afternoons and Friday evenings to work around your class schedule. Is that okay?"

Right. Because the pretty bastard would be coming back twice a week for a month. Jesus. And he was supposed to... cuddle the bastard. He didn't think he could do that. Fuck him against a wall, yes. Sit on the couch with his arms around him for an hour?

No. Jesus, no.

This was a terrible idea.

"Yeah, should do." What the fuck was he saying? "Sorry for... uh... mistaking you for a...."

The professional look turned to a grin. "I'm not sure what was funnier about it -- that you think prostitutes wear sweaters and jeans on a gig or that you genuinely thought your father would buy you one."

"Oi, I'm trying to be polite here, ya wanker."

Now, a smirk. "And doing a bang-up job." Before Chuck could protest, the bastard stuck his hand out yet again. "Are you ready for a handshake? Third time's a charm."

Rolling his eyes, he grudgingly shook hands. He hadn't been avoiding that contact because he was uncomfortable with it, dammit. He'd been making a point.

"You're a wanker, Ray."

He knew the second he said it aloud that it wasn't right, but fuck it. It was close enough.

Sure enough, the bloke narrowed his eyes a bit as he let go. "It's Raleigh."

Ugh. Even worse. "Whatever. Your hour's up, yeah?"

The wanker opened the door but didn't go through it yet. "I'm starting to wonder if you actually refuse contact or if no one can get past that charming personality of yours."

Stiffening, he grunted incredulously. "Nice bedside manner you got there, Ray. No wonder you're not actually a shrink."

Snorting, the pretty bastard stepped out into the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "See you Friday, Chuck."

Not to be outdone, Chuck hung out his doorway and shouted after him. "Fuck off, Ray!"

Ducking back inside before anyone on his floor could rag him for the racket, he closed the door, then leaned back against it. He felt... staticky. Like an old telly on a bad station. So much to process from a single hour.

Was it really such a big deal that he didn't want anyone around? That he wasn't a clingy sap hugging every jackass he came across? That the idea of hugging his old man left him feeling like thunderheads building up to an afternoon storm?

And was hugging some random bloke, no matter how easy on the eyes, supposed to fix any of that?

Troubled and hating it, he put away the supper dishes -- at least his old man had saved him the irritation of that after such a weird day -- then headed for a hot shower. He wanted rid of that staticky feeling before even thinking about problem sets or the essay he'd planned to finish two weeks early.

But he didn't feel any better after the steamy heat of a long, lazy shower, so instead of digging into his textbooks, he just collapsed onto his mattress in the reliable silence of his bedroom and stared up at the ceiling.

He stayed that way for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Friday rolled around, Chuck was a quiet, internalized wreck. He'd debated calling and cancelling the stupid, pointless cuddle sessions an even dozen times. Once, he'd gone as far as ringing up his old man to ask for the company's number as if he just needed to change his time slot, but he rang off before the second tone and texted Herc that it was an accidental butt dial. On one hand, he'd be relieved to know Herc would have his money for the spurious services refunded.

On the other hand, the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if... maybe... he needed it. The therapy.

On yet another hand, the idea of cuddling anyone, even the pretty not-therapist wanker, on his couch sent conflicting threads of ice and heat twisting through him. He remembered -- _thought_ he remembered -- his mum and dad doing so when he was young, and the image... was strangely haunting. He'd never done that. He'd never _wanted_ to do that.

But he sort of did. Even though he really didn't.

He was so confused and irritated by it that he couldn't eat either lunch or dinner, and when the doorbell finally rang at 6:00, he damn near jumped out of his skin. He didn't have to answer. He could pretend he wasn't home. Then, he'd call later and apologize and say he was too busy for regular sessions, so he might as well cancel them all.

Absolutely. It was an excellent plan.

So, he opened the door.

"Hi, Chuck. Can I come in?"

It was a mossy green jumper this time, but those eyes were just as blue. And just as sympathetic as they'd been three days ago for the few moments when Chuck wasn't being a dick.

Fidgeting in his hoodie and baggy sweats, Chuck stepped aside in silent invitation. He hated it, but he was pretty sure that how much he'd dreaded this session meant he really did need it. Otherwise, why would he give a shit? He'd tell both his old man and the pretty wanker smiling so encouragingly at him to fuck off and go on about his way.

"You look tired. Long week?"

Sighing, he scruffed a hand through his hair and tried not to remember how dark the circles under his eyes were. "You could say that. Couch?"

Maybe he should offer the sod something to drink, but he just... didn't think. Couldn't.

"After you."

He stuffed his hands into the big pocket over his stomach and shuffled over into the living room. He already had a movie going, though he couldn't remember what it was, so he debated a moment, then sat down just to one side of the center of the couch. The bloke, Raleigh, raised an eyebrow, then sat down beside him. Not close enough to touch. Just... nearer than the far side against the arm.

They sat in silence for a while, the movie playing in the background. He didn't know if his hug therapist was watching or not. Chuck sure as hell wasn't. He was thinking about how the bloke was close enough to tilt the middle cushion a bit. Not enough to really affect Chuck's balance, but enough that, if he needed an excuse to lean that way, he had one.

But he didn't. He... wasn't ready for that yet. If they were going to fuck, yes. Since they unequivocally were not, hell no.

Because, seriously. Did the rotten sod have to be hot as hell as well as damn near a therapist? Because that wasn't fucking fair. Who the hell was comfortable with non-sexual touching with a bloke built like a goddamn wet dream?

Not. Helping.

Then, out of nowhere, his mouth started flapping.

"Did my old man really say we both blame him for Mum's death? For not catching it sooner?"

He didn't want to ask that. Yes, his mouth had a tendency to run away from him, but that usually meant insults and snark. Not... this.

"He did."

Chuck could almost feel those blue eyes on him, so he stared sightlessly at the senseless images on the screen.

"He said he blames himself at least as much as you do. So... do you?"

Sighing, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do I what?"

"Blame him."

Why'd he have to open his stupid mouth? And why did the wanker have to call him on it?

Oh. Right. Almost a therapist.

"I... did. When I was a kid. Sure I did. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Blame her?"

Because he'd done that, too. She should have said something. Yes, the doctors all said she didn't have severe symptoms, but she had to have felt... different. With her body mutating and eating itself to death, she had to have felt _something_.

"But you don't now?"

Don't what? Oh, right. Sighing again, he let his head drop back against the couch and shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket again.

"I dunno, mate. Sometimes, yeah? Fuck if I know." Opening his eyes, he stared up at the ceiling. "I blame him more for not taking early retirement. They offered it when she died. I know that. I saw the paperwork. But he stayed in, and he dragged me all over the goddamn world and it was... it was like... fuck, like my whole life before that was a dream. Like...." He swallowed hard, his eyes prickling. "Like I'd never be home again."

"Mm."

They were quiet for a moment while Chuck got ahold of himself. He was absurdly grateful for the break. He wasn't sure why he'd said any of it in the first place. He'd never talked about it before, not with his father and not with any of his one-night stands. And he'd _never_ had friends. He'd never even considered talking about it.

But if nothing else, the bloke was a damn good listener.

"So you made yourself a safe place here." It wasn't an accusation. The bloke's voice was too soft for that. "And you kept everyone else out because here, you're home. And you won't let anyone take it from you again."

And intuitive as fuck. Dammit. Not that he'd ever thought it out like that before.

"Had to let Dad in once in a while." He didn't quite manage a smile. In fact, he was glad he was still staring at the ceiling, because he was pretty sure the expression looked more like a grimace than anything pleasant. "Mum would've haunted the both of us if I hadn't."

"And you let me in."

He snorted, then was surprised at himself. "Because you called me a chickenshit."

"Not in so many words."

He shook his head, then lifted it to narrow his eyes at the rotten sod. "Not even gonna deny it, are you?"

Ugh, that fucking smirk. "Every client requires a different approach."

"Oi!"

He jerked one hand out of his pocket and swatted the wanker with it, then realized he'd just voluntarily touched the bastard. Was that part of the therapy? The ratbag certainly looked pleased with himself.

Grumbling, Chuck bit the bullet and scooted over until their knees and shoulders touched. "Just for that, ya wanker."

Raleigh didn't comment, but the smug smirk did soften to an actual smile before he returned his attention to the telly. The bloke was ridiculously warm at both points of contact, and Chuck tried not to focus on the feeling but was helpless against it. This was the closest he'd been to anyone he hadn't planned to fuck in... well, likely since his mum died. He and Herc certainly never sat arm-to-arm on the couch, watching movies. Hell, they were doing good to sit across the table from each other once or twice a week.

But it was... nice. Not great, because Chuck was yet again uncomfortably aware of his every movement and expression, knowing it was likely being noted, catalogued, and filed away for later consideration. But it wasn't bad, either. The bloke didn't make any other moves or press for more than the supposedly casual contact.

No need to panic and jerk away, as he knew he had done in the past. No need to hide behind anger and sarcasm, as he knew he still did.

So maybe... this bullshit cuddle therapy wasn't so much bullshit after all.

Next time, he might even lean on the bloke.

Maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

Herc picked at his shepherd's pie, more uncomfortable than usual sitting across from his prickly, complicated son. Was Chuck mad at him? Had he finally pushed him too far, trying to get closer? They rarely talked much, but the complete silence was new and... unnerving.

Maybe he should just leave.

But the shepherd's pie was mouthwatering, and he hated to leave without finishing his plate. Chuck could be an impatient little gobshite, but he was one hell of a cook. And he hated to leave the kid to stew in his own funk, especially since he wasn't sure this particular funk wasn't his fault.

So he should probably stay. Should he say something?

Sighing, he tried to focus on his food. The meat wasn't beef, and he vaguely wondered if the kid had splurged on lamb. And how did he make the gravy, if that's what it was? And the mashed potatoes on top... so fluffy and rich. How the hell did he do it?

"Can I get a recipe for this?"

It popped out before he could stop it, but it seemed a harmless enough question. A bit loud in the silence, but neutral and unassuming.

Thankfully, the kid answered readily enough, despite the prior silence. "Not really from any one recipe, sorry. I could probably cobble something together...?"

"If you have time." Great. Now he felt awkward. "Don't... it's not a big thing. Maybe just... what's in the potatoes?"

That got a glance up and a hint of a grin that almost knocked Herc out of his chair. "Butter and sour cream. Hope your cholesterol's good."

A chuckle huffed out of him before he could reconsider. Chuck seemed... almost playful. Was that possible? Was it because...?

But he was trying not to ask about the cuddle therapy. It wasn't any of his business if Chuck had cancelled his sessions. He deliberately hadn't checked his account to see if he'd received a refund.

"It was last time I checked. Maybe I should have it checked again."

But at that, the kid suddenly sobered up, and Herc wanted to kick himself. He didn't know what he'd said wrong, but he must have said _something_. The change of expression was too sudden and obvious to be unrelated.

"Oi, you do go to the doctor regularly, yeah?"

He blinked. That... wasn't what he expected.

"A yearly check-up at least?"

Why was... oh. _Oh._ Because a few blood tests might have revealed Angela's disastrously low white cell count, which might have tipped her doctor to the cancer before it spread too far to treat.

And Chuck... wanted him to check? To maybe have an early enough diagnosis to get treatment? Or was he reaching? They'd never talked about... any of this. Anything like this.

Now, he was more curious than ever about whether or not Chuck was following through with the therapy thing.

But again, not his business. So, he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

"Yeah. Twice a year check-up and all that. Even went when I was down with that respiratory thing."

Clearly relieved, the kid eased back in his seat. "Good. That's good. Me, too. Twice a year."

They were quiet again, but it didn't feel so uncomfortable this time. Herc let himself linger over his dinner, savoring both the quiet warmth from knowing Chuck was worried about him and the vegetables and the meat, the richness of the sauce against the creamy goodness of the mashed potatoes. He'd never been much of a chef, but Chuck was brilliant at it.

It was almost a shame the kid was into robotics instead of cuisine.

"Dad?"

He blinked, almost feeling sleepy and realizing he'd been dragging his roll through the gravy on his plate for long enough that the bread was soggy with it. "Yeah?"

To his surprise, Chuck's cheeks turned red enough to hide his freckles, and the kid stared determinedly at his own empty plate.

"Thanks for... the therapy thing. I think I... maybe needed it."

Floored, Herc could only stare while the poor kid's face heated further until both his ears and his throat were red, too. If he didn't say something soon, he was pretty sure Chuck would get up and walk out, and that would be that. He needed to get his shit together.

But... Jesus. He'd never expected--

His voice barely a croak, he forced himself to speak. "You've carried on with it, then?"

That brought Chuck's eyes up, his eyebrows gathering together in a frown. "Did they not tell you? Give you some kind of report?"

He blinked. "I've not asked, but... honestly, son, I don't think they would. I imagine there's laws against that, no matter who's paying for it, yeah?"

"...Oh." The frown softened a bit. "I thought... huh."

They were quiet yet again, and awkward again. Not necessarily in a bad way. Just... Herc didn't know where to go from there, and Chuck clearly didn't, either.

Finally, fidgeting with his fork, he shrugged. "Is it... going all right, then?"

Chuck huffed, but Herc couldn't tell if it was amusement or irritation. "Managed to actually sit next to him Friday. And we... y'know... talked about some things."

Frankly, Herc was stunned. Yes, he'd been desperate when he sought out his old friend who ran a private practice specializing in PTSD and anxiety disorders with a psychiatrist and a psychologist he'd picked up back in the service. Yes, he'd hoped something, _anything,_ would come from the ridiculous cuddle therapy theory the two doctors had come up with over the years.

But that Chuck was actually trying it, had actually managed to talk to... well, not a therapist, exactly, but a professional of some sort....

But he was gaping like a fish, and Chuck was coloring up again. "I... that's good, son. That's... I'm proud of you." He swallowed hard. "Can't be easy."

The poor kid abruptly stood and stacked their plates together, red as a firetruck and gritting his teeth so hard the tendons in his neck strained with the pressure. Unfortunately, when he got to the sink, he put the dishes in it, then just stood there, tense and flexing. Herc had no idea what to do or say. If he should do or say anything at all.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, those broad shoulders slumped, and Chuck sighed. "It isn't."

Of course it wasn't. It wouldn't be easy for Herc, either.

"But I think I need it." Hands planted on the counter, Chuck hung his head. "I'm still so goddamn mad at you, Dad, but... not for Mum, yeah? Not anymore. Don't think I ever told you that. Maybe I should have."

Herc's eyes burned, and his breath caught in his chest. It hurt, yes, but... Jesus, he'd never expected Chuck to stop hating him for Angela's death. He'd thought they'd both take that to their graves.

He knew he'd fucked up afterward. He knew he had to do penance for never letting his poor kid feel settled, feel secure anywhere, though he'd thought it the only option at the time. But to know Chuck didn't... wasn't....

_Don't break down. This is about him, not you._

Gritting his jaw, he blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. He couldn't afford a breakdown right now. He had to be strong. He had to be there for his goddamn kid like he should've been the whole goddamn time.

"You, uh... you don't have to tell me anything, Chuck. But... I'm glad to hear it."

He sounded like he'd been gargling glass, but Chuck nodded as he reached to turn on the water, so Herc just gathered up the rest of the dishes and took them over. Then, since Chuck didn't seem inclined to snark him away, he stayed long enough to dry and put the dishes away before picking up his keys and leaving with a nod and a hint of a smile.

Yes, it was awkward as fuck. Yes, he'd do it again a hundred times over to hear Chuck say he didn't hate him.

And he owed Stacker Pentecost a ring up and a bottle of Scotch because whatever Raleigh Becket was doing was _working._

Thank God.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Chu-- oh, my God, what is that smell?"

Chuck smirked and left the door open to head back into the kitchen, where the last batch of cookies was still on the sheet and in desperate need of removing to a wire rack. Thankfully, even though the pretty bastard was damn near drooling from the warm vanilla sugar and melted chocolate scents in the air, Raleigh still had the presence of mind to shut the door behind him.

"That would be chocolate chip biscuits. You're early. They were supposed to be done by the time you got here."

The gorgeous sod was in a charcoal grey cableknit today, and it looked just as distressingly good on him as the others had. Chuck was beginning to think the bloke would manage to look good in a Christmas jumper, dammit.

"Sorry? Maybe? Because, not gonna lie, they smell amazing."

Smirking -- and, yes, more than a little proud of himself -- he arranged the last one on the rack and eyed the whole batch critically. He liked his baking to look at least as good as it tasted, so he always added a little extra flour to these particular biscuits to prevent them spreading out and carmelizing on the sides. This batch looked like it should be photographed in a baking magazine, and he mentally patted himself on the back.

"You allergic to walnuts?"

The bloke blinked, one eyebrow going up. "No?"

"Then help yourself. Milk?"

Ugh. The pretty wanker smiled like a sunrise and nodded, reaching for a cookie from the opposite side of the freshest ones. Probably smart, as the chocolate in the ones right from the oven would probably burn the shit out of his mouth.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus, this is... mmm...."

The bloke's yummy noises turned damn near sexual on a second bite, and Chuck blushed and turned away to pull two glasses down from the cabinet. He couldn't look at the gorgeous bastard like that. Not without popping a boner he'd be hard-put, ha ha, to explain. The noises were bad enough.

So he poured them both some milk with far more deliberation than the simple task required, and when he finally felt capable of turning back to the moaning, sighing wanker having entirely too sensual an encounter with Chuck's baking, he realized the wanker was already on a second one, licking that generous lower lip, eyes closed, fuck-all eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Goddammit. Why did this beautiful bastard have to be his goddamn sort-of therapist? He wanted to bend him back over his own table and fuck him senseless, tasting his own goddamn baking in that gorgeous mouth all the while.

And if he didn't let up his grip on the glasses in his hands, he'd shatter them both and make an even bigger mess of himself.

"Here ya go, mate."

There. That sounded normal enough.

Until the bloke slowly opened his eyes, the blue dark and hazy, and Chuck was lost all over again. Jesus, the bastard was walking, talking sex. And Chuck was supposed to work up to deliberately non-sexual touch with him.

Fuck. His. Life.

Pivoting on his heel, he headed back into the kitchen to lean his cookie sheets in the empty sink to cool off before washing them. He'd kept the rest of the dishes up whilst he cooked, so everything else was already dried and put away. He didn't like a lot of counter clutter. He liked space.

And he was stalling.

So he gathered up his considerable willpower and left the safety of his tidy kitchen. "Should I get you a plate, or are you fine to stand there all hour eating them right off the racks?"

The pretty bloke quirked a slow smile that did terrible things to Chuck's resolve. "If you bring a plate, I can guarantee I will make myself sick. I'm better off just grabbing a couple and walking the hell away."

Snorting and letting some of the unfortunate attraction fall into the background, Chuck picked up his glass of milk and selected a handful of cookies for himself, then headed into the living room. "Suit yourself. Any preferences on what we studiously ignore whilst I try to talk about things and you nod and smile and look wise?"

Raleigh coughed, looking more sheepish than sexy for once. "Do I really look wise?"

He shrugged, wondering why he'd brought it up. "I dunno, actually. I usually can't look at you when I'm talking about... my shit."

"Ah." The bloke considerately sat down where he'd sat the Friday before, no closer, no further away. "Whatever works for you works for me. But I'll work on my wise look, just in case. And... put in whatever you want. I'm not picky."

Shrugging again, he plopped down right next to the bloke, shoulders and knees bumping almost hard enough for Raleigh to spill his milk and raise an eyebrow, then picked up his remotes and kicked his socked feet up on the coffee table. He scrolled through Netflix for a bit, then picked _The Emperor's New Groove._ Should be safe enough. Funny, not remotely related to his current situation, and something he'd seen enough times to ignore if he got to talking again.

Which he did almost immediately.

"Talked to my dad yesterday."

"Mm?"

Of course the bloke had a mouthful of biscuit. He probably hadn't expected Chuck to give in so quickly. Hell, Chuck hadn't expected it, either.

"I, uh... told him I wasn't mad at him about Mum."

Raleigh blinked at him, then swallowed in a hurry. "That's great, Chuck. How'd he react?"

He huffed, lowering his gaze to the little pile of cookies on the stomach of his t-shirt. "Honestly? I think he just about had a stroke. I had my back to him, but it sounded like he was trying hard not to lose his shit."

"Mm." That one wasn't because the bloke's mouth was full. "Did you feel all right about it?"

Frowning, he considered. He hadn't expected that question. If he'd expected a question at all, it would have been whether or not he'd hugged the old man.

So.... "I think... yeah? It was hard to say. I'm not sure he didn't think I was fucking furious at him when I started, and I sure as hell couldn't say it to his face. But once it was out... it felt...."

Like he'd cut out a piece of infected flesh. Like he'd coughed up the water that had been drowning him. It had hurt, yes, but it felt better at the same time, like pulling out a rotting tooth.

Shifting the slightest bit, he let himself... lean. It wasn't much -- just a bit more than the easy contact from sitting close -- but it was... something.

And Raleigh let him. Even leaned back against him just the slightest bit, offering without words to take a little more of his weight, if he wanted.

He didn't. Yet.

"I think it felt better."

"Good." He didn't have to look to know the bloke was giving him that soft smile. "I'm proud of you, Chuck. That wasn't easy to do."

Swallowing hard, he nodded, Emperor Kuzco a bright blur on the screen.

"Do you want me to put my arm around you?"

Did he? Would that be too much on top of his confession? He just didn't know.

"It's okay. Not until you're ready."

Relieved that he didn't have to make a decision just yet, he swallowed hard again and nodded jerkily. He felt weirdly raw, and he wasn't sure if more contact would feel better or just chafe along all those exposed nerves, making everything worse.

Thankfully, knowing that Raleigh wouldn't make any kind of move without Chuck telling him it was okay helped relieve the worst of his tension. In fact, he relaxed enough to actually swat at the bloke as he stole a cookie from the pile on Chuck's stomach. The cheeky sod.

But he didn't protest too much. In fact, it was... sort of flattering. He usually either sent goodies home with his old man or left his excess baking in an anonymous pile on the desk in the university library. He'd never seen any leftovers there, so he assumed everything tasted all right, but it was nice to have real-time confirmation.

And by the time Kuzco struck out into the jungle on his own, Chuck felt comfortable enough to reach down and pull the bloke's arm up and around his neck, adjusting until they sat comfortably together with Raleigh's arm across Chuck's shoulders and Chuck leaning against Raleigh's solid bulk, both their feet propped on the coffee table.

It felt... nice. Surprisingly comfortable. Something he hadn't known he was missing.

For the first time in a long time, Chuck felt all right. Maybe there was something to this therapy shite, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

"So... Australia."

Chuck wasn't offended. In fact, he was surprised the bloke had waited until their fourth session to ask. If nothing else, Raleigh had patience to spare.

But curiosity had apparently won out. Luckily, Chuck didn't mind explaining. At this late date, refusing to do so would be the lady protesting too much.

"Born and raised there until Mum died. Dad base-hopped, but Mum and I stayed home. Then, even when we moved from base to base, I didn't usually talk to anyone but him, so we just sort of... kept the accent."

"Ah." Damn that sincere, sympathetic look. "But you don't want to live there."

Insightful fuck. Sighing, Chuck shrugged. "Australia... has a lot of memories, but not many I want to be reminded of."

Yoda the Therapist nodded and dropped the subject, for which Chuck was grateful. Sighing, he dug into his dessert and let himself unwind again.

He'd made fresh apple cobbler this time, and Raleigh had groaned almost obscenely at his first mouthful of warm, cinnamon goodness and cool, creamy vanilla bean ice cream. They both had frankly ridiculous pieces in large salad bowls, the ice cream melting down into all the nooks and crannies, the crust flaky and buttery around the edges, the apples tart and sweet and delicious. With their feet again kicked up on the coffee table and the rest of _The Emperor's New Groove_ playing in the background, Chuck felt positively decadent.

He'd outdone himself. God help him if Herc found out, though. Chuck had only ever made him a cobbler once, claiming it was too much trouble to peel that many goddamn apples. Not that it had seemed like so many while he happily peeled away this afternoon. Not that he planned to tell Herc that.

At some point during the strangely comfortable silence -- punctuated, of course, by the silly sod's ridiculous noises of enjoyment -- it suddenly occurred to Chuck that this was Friday night. Why the hell did Raleigh not have things to do? Didn't most normal people go out on Friday night?

Did Raleigh go out? Was he dating someone? A bloke that gorgeous was surely on the hook, if not actively pinned down. But a quick glance revealed a left hand devoid of any kind of ring. Interesting.

What would he be doing on a Friday night if Chuck's school schedule didn't make finding another time awkward? Was any of that Chuck's business, given that the wanker was basically his therapist?

Probably not. But he wanted to know, anyway.

But how to ask?

Unfortunately, his mouth blurted out the first idea that popped in there. "I don't think I've ever been on a date. Is that weird?"

Jesus. What the hell?

But Raleigh only considered in that quiet way of his. "I imagine the aversion to touch and the need to keep everyone at arm's length probably hampers your ability to socialize, so no, I don't think it's too weird." Warm blue eyes met his. "Do you feel like you're missing out?"

Not what he wanted to talk about. At all. Even a little bit.

Squirming, he abruptly wished they weren't sitting arm-and-arm, as he'd become rather used to. "Uh, not... I mean, it's not like I never... just, I don't... fuck, why did I bring this up?"

Damn that smile. "Because dating is about little intimacies and getting close, and that _is_ what this therapy is for?"

He did not want this conversation to be about him, though he didn't doubt Raleigh's insight. He just wanted to know if the pretty sod was off the market, dammit.

Instead, he found himself putting aside his bowl and crossing his arms over his chest. Yes, he knew he was physically closing off, but it was okay because he could feel his mouth getting ready to open up and blurt everything.

"Look, I don't need to date a string of losers to get what I want. Yeah, I'm usually on the lookout for someone willing to throw a quick fuck in, but that's it. I don't need more than that. I just... this is about trying to get closer to Dad, not turn into a goddamn Don Juan."

"Can't it be about both? You talk about getting a quick fuck in. Is that really all you want from other people? To get your rocks off without any attachments?"

"Well, yeah." He frowned, because it sounded... a little cold, put that way. "That's all they want from me, too. I don't need a load of cuddles and kisses to get a hard-on."

"So sex is also a no-contact area for you."

Blushing, he squirmed and scooted a few inches away. He did not want to be touching the bloke whilst talking about... sex. Good God.

"I mean, there has to be some... touching, yeah, but it doesn't have to... just... fuck, I got no use for 'making love', yeah? I just want to scratch the itch and be on my way."

"Why not just masturbate, then?"

His face felt nuclear. Was he sweating? He felt like he ought to be sweating.

"Because it's... fuck, everyone yanks one out every now and then, mate. You gonna act like you've never spanked it?"

"This isn't about me." But the wanker wore that smug little crooked grin. "I'm just saying that if you're not after intimacy, why do you seek out a partner? Why involve anyone else at all? If you just want the itch scratched, you can do that for yourself."

Cunning bastard. Scowling, Chuck glared down at his socked feet where they were crossed on the coffee table. "I know where you're going with that, mate, and you're wrong."

"But it doesn't feel as good when you're by yourself."

It was an observation, not a question. And... dammit, he didn't know how to contradict it. Because sex _did_ feel better than jerking off, even with as little extraneous touch as possible. And he _did_ sometimes need... another body to grind against. Someone else's moans and sighs. To feel... somebody _else._

"Chuck." Damn that low tone. It reeked of understanding. "I'm not saying you should go date a string of losers. I'm not even saying you need candlelight and romance. But if you truly didn't want any intimacy at all, you wouldn't need to seek out a quick fuck, even just once in a while." A gentle elbow in his upper arm. "There's plenty of middle ground between fucking and making love, you know."

He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to need anything from anyone. He was self-sufficient, dammit.

But if that were true, he'd have kicked Raleigh out of his flat the first session and never looked back.

Dammit.

Grumbling under his breath, he scooted back up against the bloke's side and scooted down until Raleigh got the picture and put his arm around him again. He didn't want to need comfort. He didn't want to enjoy how good it felt to, yes, cuddle up against someone.

But Raleigh was comfortable. The usual jumper -- a rich, creamy ivory this time -- was soft against his cheek, and the muscle under it was firm and... perfect. The rotten sod was _perfect,_ and it sucked.

"Maybe you could start small. Not even a date."

He grumbled again, not sure if there were any actual words in there or not.

"Maybe you and your father should go eat at a restaurant sometime. Nothing fancy. Just you two in public for a nice dinner. Talk a little about nothing."

Snorting, he rolled his eyes. "And a nice, polite kiss at the end of the night? No tongue?"

The hard curve of chest under his chest jumped on a chuckle. "If the mood takes you. Although I'd more suggest a hug."

That building-storm feeling rolled in, massive thunderheads piling up on his mental horizon, and he wanted to jump off the couch and pace the floor to chase them away. Or run screaming out into the early evening. Cuddle his old man? Jesus, that was... too much. Too much, too fast.

"It doesn't have to be right now, Chuck." The arm around his shoulders tightened, and Raleigh rubbed a big hand up and down his arm. "I'm just suggesting it as something to consider. And I'd recommend trying with your father before even thinking about trying with a potential sexual partner. Your dad will have a lot more patience for awkwardness than someone who's trying to get into your pants as quickly as you're trying to get into theirs."

Grumbling again, he tried to relax and let the bloke comfort him. Because that gentle stroke up and down his arm _was_ comforting, as was the soft jumper over that hard chest.

Unfortunately, the session was almost over, and Chuck suddenly didn't want to be left alone. Not with everything that had just been stirred up still whirling around in his head. Dating and hugging his old man and why hadn't he noticed that he maybe _did_ need at least a little closeness, even if only during a good, hard fuck?

Too much. Way too much to be left alone with.

"Ray?"

That hard chest heaved on a sigh. "Raleigh."

"'S what I said." The brief urge to grin passed almost before it started. "Are you--" _\--busy tonight? Can you stay? I don't want to be alone, and yes, I do see the irony._ "Any chance I can pay out of pocket for another hour?"

He closed his eyes. Jesus, did that sound like he was soliciting a whore? Because he didn't want to sound like that. He just--

"You want me to stay?" Damn if the bloke didn't sound surprised.

Feeling small, Chuck nodded. "I... there's too much...." Sighing, he gestured vaguely at his head. "If you leave right now, it'll just...."

"Okay." That comforting hand squeezed his upper arm gently. "Let me just call in and update with Tendo."

He frowned. "Don't... that won't go to Dad, will it? I'll pay for it myself."

Raleigh smiled that soft, comforting smile. "I'm just making sure he notes it for your record. We don't deal in insurance, either private or government, but we still keep very professional treatment records. It may not seem like it, but it really does help the client if we keep all our ducks in a row. If nothing else, we can show you your progress based on our notes of each visit."

Relieved, he nodded and settled back. Raleigh managed to make the call and get it all sorted without taking his arm back, and soon enough, they were quiet and easy again and halfway through another movie. They didn't talk anymore, though. Chuck was all talked out.

And when he finally did see the bloke to the door, he made a snap decision to throw his arms around Raleigh's waist, squeeze tight for a moment, then let go and back out of reach to stare hard at the floor. It felt... he felt... God, it was such a stupid thing to do, and he really hadn't let himself linger long enough to feel anything, and it probably would have been smart to let Raleigh hug him back and see how _that_ felt, but....

Raleigh, good bloke that he was, only grinned softly, said he'd see him again on Tuesday, and left, shutting the door behind him.

Chuck stood there staring for a long, long time.


	7. Chapter 7

Herc blinked, at a loss for words.

"Well?"

He really should say something. Chuck had looked thundery from the moment he answered the door, but that cloudy expression was rapidly darkening toward hurricane weather.

_Say something, idiot!_

"You want to go _out_ to dinner?"

Because that was... huh. The kid only grudgingly agreed to making something for them both once a week as a sort of token gesture of truce. He'd never once suggested anything public. Even now, there was far too much chance of the wrong word at the wrong time, resulting in one or both of them getting up and walking out. If they were in public, wouldn't that possibility be even worse?

But Chuck grumbled a bit and crossed his arms, glaring at the floor. "Raleigh says... fuck, I can't explain it, but you'll be a lot less likely to get pissed at me for being an awkward jackass than a blind date would, and apparently, I need to fucking socialize. So, are you in or out?"

So much to unpackage from that statement, and Herc wasn't sure he was up for the task. Maybe he should just agree for now, then unparcel it later when Chuck wasn't standing right in front of him, turning a deeper shade of red every second and glaring holes in the carpet.

"Uh, sure, son. Wherever you want. My treat, yeah?"

"I'll buy." The denial was quick, but Herc heard the relief behind it, and Chuck was able to actually look at him finally. "I was thinking that Italian place 'round the corner? I've no idea if it's any good."

"Guess we'll find out."

So, less than ten minutes after walking into his son's flat, he walked right back out again, Chuck trailing along beside him in faded jeans and an old hoodie. Probably for comfort, unless he missed his guess. He understood. He rather wished he had a shirt with a huge front pocket he could hide his hands in, too. Might not feel so awkward.

 _Raleigh says._ So the kid was still carrying on with the therapy. Which was good, right? And Chuck actually listened to the bloke, which was a blue-eyed miracle. Or maybe Raleigh was the blue-eyed miracle. He couldn't help but grin at the thought, even as Chuck held the restaurant's door open and gestured him through first.

But it was awkward to sit across from his fidgety, anxious son in the lowlit booth seat with the restaurant humming and bustling around them. He had no idea what to say to put the poor kid at ease, mostly because he wasn't at ease himself. The last thing he wanted was to cause a nasty scene in public, but if they didn't get their shit together, it could happen in a flash.

_Pull it together. You're a goddamn adult. And he's your goddamn son. Be his father for once in your life._

Swallowing hard, he laced his fingers together and tried to make chitchat, God help him.

"So... how's school going?"

He knew how school was going. Chuck had no problem telling him about his outstanding grades and being at the top of every single one of his classes. Telling him _at great length._ But it was idle chatter on a safe subject.

"Good." Chuck nodded, toying with his butter knife. "Got that essay done in plenty of time and that bullshit problem set sorted. Turns out, it was one of those trick questions where any reasonable solution counted as credit because that asshole prof loves watching people give up and get zeroes."

He grinned a bit, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. "Bet he was pissed when you came up with an actual answer."

That got a smirk, and the kid finally sat upright and looked at him full-on. "Not gonna lie. I'll remember that 'Holy shit, this might actually work' look on his face fondly and forever."

Herc chuckled, shaking his head. That was Chuck right down to the ground. He didn't just succeed. He _conquered._

Unfortunately, they both lapsed back into awkward silence until the waiter showed up to take their drink orders. Chuck hesitated, then ordered a lager. Herc didn't blame him. He needed something to settle his nerves, too, so he made it two with a glass of ice water. Then, they were alone again.

He racked his brain for anything to talk about. Anything but what he most wanted to talk about, which was how the hell Raleigh had convinced Chuck to basically go on a date with his old man. Not that it was a _date_ date, but still.

But he had no idea how to broach that subject without asking about the therapy, which he wasn't sure Chuck would appreciate. It seemed to be helping, and that's all Herc really needed to know, curiosity be damned.

So... what else to talk about?

Before he could think of anything safe, Chuck cleared his throat and broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence.

"So. Dad." He cleared his throat again. "Did you... maybe look into that landscape painting thing?"

He blinked, stymied again. He hadn't talked about that in... Jesus, two months? More? And he'd only mentioned it the once, Chuck's snort telling him without words what he thought of the idea.

"Just... being retired and all... was wondering if you'd found something you liked doing, yeah?"

Like when the kid had so earnestly asked if he was taking care of his health, the query left Herc feeling... warm. Stunned, but... maybe in a good way?

"'S gotta be hard filling the hours when you're used to there always being something to do, something needing sorted on a base, so... I was just curious."

He should probably say something soon. Chuck was turning that brutal and likely painful shade of red again and beginning to ramble uncomfortably.

But he was trying. Herc had to hold onto that. Chuck was by-God trying.

"Uh." Well, that was a promising start. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I've not, actually, though I'm still... rolling it about." He blinked. "Think it might be a good idea, after all?"

The shrug was too casual to actually be casual, especially paired with the deep, brick red of the poor kid's cheeks. "Dunno. Don't remember you doing any painting, so I've no idea if you'd be any good at it, but... it'd give you something to do." Another too-casual shrug. "I know you didn't really want to retire, so...."

Did Chuck think...? Sighing, he wished they already had their drinks so they could both at least fidget with their glasses.

"I didn't... exactly want to retire, no, but only because I didn't know what else to do." Swallowing hard, he moved his silverware roll from the right side to the left and back again. "I'm a military man, yeah? What else is there but the military?" Chuck started to answer, but Herc cut him off. "Besides my son, of course."

Chuck looked up in a hurry, eyes wide, and in that blatant surprise, Herc read every single insecurity the kid kept locked behind a surly front and all that acid sarcasm. It was like a punch to the gut, and he felt like the worst sort of asshole.

Well, maybe he could set the record straight.

"Chuck, I retired hoping I could finally do right by you. Spend some time with you before it was too late. Maybe it already is, but... I left all that behind hoping it's not."

It was Chuck's turn to be speechless. The poor kid could only blink.

Sighing, Herc resisted the urge to reach across the table and touch his son somehow. Just his hand, maybe, or his shoulder. He didn't think they were quite there yet. But... maybe they were getting there.

"You should've always been my priority, son. It's my fault you've not been, not yours." He shrugged, uncomfortable but knowing it had to be said, right out in the open. "From now on, you're the most important thing, all right?"

Thank God, but the waiter came back with their drinks, and Herc blessed the break in the tension. Jesus, no wonder Chuck was an emotional no-show if his old man took twenty-one years to say something that should've been obvious and true from Day One.

He took his time as he ordered, asking a load of questions and keeping an eye on Chuck to make sure the poor kid was recovered enough to order for himself before making a decision and sticking to it. The waiter didn't seem to notice, but Chuck did. Even gave him a nod before mumbling what he wanted.

And then they were silent again, but it didn't feel so _fraught_ this time. And before the silence could become uncomfortable, Chuck grinned a bit, though he didn't lift his eyes from his napkin.

"Think you should try the landscape painting."

He grinned, too. "Yeah?"

Nodding, the kid shot him a quick glance. "And maybe get a dog. To keep you company."

The warm feeling came back. Chuck didn't want him to be lonely and bored. It was a good feeling, and he hoped his son felt that way now, too. Watched over. Cared for.

"Dogs _are_ good company. It'd sure as hell get me out of my flat more often to walk him. And there's a dog park a few blocks away, yeah?" He finally took a drink of his lager and hmmed appreciatively. Just what the doctor ordered. "What kind, do you think?"

Settling back in the booth for the first time, Chuck looked more himself than he had in... hell. Herc didn't remember his son _ever_ looking this relaxed. The kid had always been all sharp edges and hard surfaces. It was... nice. Good to see.

As was the little grin. "I rather like bulldogs, yeah? They're so wrinkly and soft when they're puppies. Fucking adorable."

And just like that, they were talking like regular people. Their food arrived, but they didn't need the interruption and kept right on nattering about potential names and what all was required for a proper pet adoption and whether or not Herc would look like a hipster jackass if he set up an easel in the dog park.

He couldn't have said later what they ate or if it was any good. He couldn't have quoted their conversation. He just knew that it was the best evening he'd had in longer than he cared to remember, and he'd remember that feeling for the rest of his life.

They were okay. For the first time since Angela died -- maybe even before that -- they were okay. He didn't think anything could make such a top night any better.

Thus, he was damn near floored when Chuck paused after opening his door, gave him a nervous glance, then lurched forward and hugged him hard. It didn't last long -- barely long enough for Herc to gather his wits enough to even start to hug back -- but it was a genuine cuddle. And it came out of nowhere.

"G'night, Dad. Thanks for dinner." And the door practically slammed in his face.

But he didn't mind. In fact, Herc Hansen felt like a million bucks, and he was embarrassingly certain he glowed all the way home.

His prickly, thorny, difficult asshole of a son had just hugged him.

Forget Stacker. He owed Raleigh Becket a whole goddamn _case_ of Scotch. Single-malt. Something old and classy and expensive.

And he needed to sign up for some landscape painting classes. And see about adopting a bulldog puppy.

Retirement was finally looking up.


	8. Chapter 8

Chuck knew without a doubt that he was about to do something stupid. He didn't care. He was by-God doing it anyway.

Sure enough, the doorbell finally rang, and he immediately threw the door open -- because he'd been waiting by it -- made sure his gentleman caller was indeed Raleigh, then launched himself at the poor sod. Throwing his arms around someone still wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but this time, he even managed to hang on instead of jumping away.

As Raleigh cautiously touched Chuck's upper arms, Chuck actually let himself... feel _close._ Feel the warmth of another person's body heat seeping into him. Feel the solidity of the bloke's chest against his. Feel his arms tightening around the broad torso. Smell a combination of some very light cologne, a scant whiff of fabric softener from the jumper, and something that was simply Raleigh.

"Hey, Chuck. Good day today?"

Thankfully, the bloke sounded amused instead of offended, but he still wasn't returning the cuddle. Was he waiting for permission? Did Chuck really have to say it?

"I did what you said."

Okay, not what he meant to say, but he should be used to his mouth running away from him whenever Raleigh was anywhere near him.

"What'd I say?"

Squeezing his eyes closed, he breathed in the bloke's comfortable, safe scent and settled himself. "Took my old man out to dinner. Gave him... a quick cuddle at the end."

Oh, glory be, but Raleigh slowly -- likely gauging for any signs of discomfort -- ran his hands around Chuck's back and gently cuddled him in return. It felt like a heavy blanket in the cold. Like being rocked to sleep. Like he could stand like this for the rest of his life and be perfectly content.

He fucking loved it.

"I'm so proud of you, Chuck. That is amazing progress."

He hid his stupid grin against the bloke's warm neck. The words were nice and all, and he definitely felt the praise right down to his toes, but the feel of that thick chest rumbling against his own, the low thrum of the bloke's voice right against his cheek, was the best thing in the world. Was this what hugging was? No fucking wonder everyone did it every chance they got.

It was even better when the silly sod turned his face a bit until they were cheek to cheek. "How'd he react?"

Well, shit. Now the bastard couldn't help but feel Chuck's face heating up. "Dunno. I kinda slammed the door afterward and curled up on the floor just inside for a few minutes to get my shit together."

Jesus. He wanted to feel that chuckle right up against his chest forever. "Understandable. I imagine he felt pretty much the same."

Awkward now, he pulled away even though he wanted to stay right where he was. It was... too much. It felt too good, and he didn't want to make Raleigh uncomfortable. Bloke was a cuddle therapist, but that didn't mean he wanted to spend the whole goddamn hour hugging him in the hallway.

"Sorry, mate. C'mon in. I just... y'know. Wanted to tell you straight away."

"I'm glad you did." The bloke followed him in, then stood and waited for Chuck to decide where he wanted to be. "Did you two manage to talk about anything?"

Weirdly nervous now that he'd hugged his hug therapist and nothing bad had happened, he fiddled about in the kitchen, sorting through the coffee cake muffins he'd baked earlier for a plateful of perfect ones. He was stalling, but at least he knew it.

"Yeah, a bit. Talked about him maybe taking up landscape painting to fill some time. And maybe getting a dog. He's just as backward as me in his own way, so it'd get him out more, if nothing else."

That fucking smile. The soft, understanding one. "Chuck, you're not backward. You're doing great."

But he shrugged the compliment off and poured them each a glass of milk. He was doing better, but he definitely wasn't great.

"Anyway." He picked up the muffin plate and gestured for Raleigh to get the glasses, then headed for the living room. "We almost sounded like real grown-ups for a bit, and we didn't snipe at each other once."

He settled in his usual spot, feeling much more confident when Raleigh sat right next to him, a line of warm contact from shoulders to knees. That feeling of connection was quickly becoming his safe place, and he fell into it now with a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad for you. Both of you." As always, the elbow nudge was gentle. "That took a lot of guts."

Shrugging, he kicked his feet up on the coffee table and fiddled with a remote. "It was your idea."

"But you implemented it all on your own. You did the work." The bloke looked so serious. _"You_ made the change."

"Because of you, mate." He saw the protest forming and cut it off. "No, Ray. Anyone else, I'd have kicked out and forgotten about. I dunno how you do it without being an asshole, but you're just as goddamn stubborn as I am, and you refused to go."

For the first time, Raleigh actually dropped his eyes, then looked away. Chuck wanted to kick himself. He didn't mean to make the poor sod uncomfortable. It was supposed to be a compliment. Sort of.

"I just want you to be happy, Chuck." Raleigh's voice was almost too quiet to hear. "You deserve to be happy. You know that, right?"

Well.

Huh.

Did he? He... wasn't sure about that. And, frankly, he wasn't in any kind of headspace to think about it because Raleigh looked....

Eh, what the hell. Cuddles made Chuck feel better, after all. Maybe they worked in reverse.

Trying not to feel awkward, he scooted down and leaned, shifting until the bloke obligingly grinned a bit and put an arm around him. That felt much better, and Chuck smirked as he finally turned on the telly and queued up a movie. He didn't particularly care what they watched. It just helped to have some background noise.

Raleigh relaxed soon enough, and the awkwardness passed. Unfortunately, the newly familiar sense of contentment gave Chuck plenty of time to think about what the bloke had said. Did he think he wasn't allowed to be happy? He'd never really thought about it before. Anger, he knew. Frustration was an old friend. Happiness was some obscure, ridiculous concept that other people tried for and routinely missed, much to his schadenfreude sense of humor.

Had he... perhaps been distancing himself from it on purpose? Making it seem ridiculous and impossible so he didn't have to try? Pushing his old man away not because he blamed him but because... he was afraid? Of what?

Of being happy?

Of remembering that life hadn't always been so frustrating and exhausting? That he'd been happy as a pig in shit until those three awful words, Stage Four cancer, came into his life?

Of knowing that his mum would never have wanted him to hate himself and his old man for something neither of them could control?

Jesus. _Did_ he hate himself? He'd never thought so, but... he _was_ kind of an asshole, and he definitely wouldn't want to waste time with anyone so damn... off-putting and... _whatever_ if he were on the other side of it. How the hell had his old man put up with him all this time? Was that maybe why he'd stayed in service for so long? So he didn't have to be alone with such an annoying prick?

Hell, if that were the case, Chuck wouldn't even blame him.

"You okay, Chuck? You're tensing up."

No. He wasn't okay. But he had no idea how to say so.

"Fine, mate." A bitter laugh huffed out of him. "Just realizing that I'm a giant asshole who maybe hates himself a little and didn't even know it until you said I deserve to be happy and I suddenly realized I don't."

A pause. To Chuck, it felt like an eternity.

"Okay." That big hand stroked up and down his arm. "Okay, we'll take that one one at a time. Let's start with the giant asshole."

A snort caught him by surprise. Damn the bloke for being funny at the exactly right time.

But despite his wry amusement, he shook his head. "Don't even start, mate. That part, I admit freely. You said yourself that my charming personality probably did as much to keep people away as my genuine need to be by my damn self."

"And yet, I'm still here."

Another snort. "Because, as I said, you're as stubborn as I am."

"You're not a giant asshole, Chuck." But the bloke sounded suspiciously amused. "Kind of a dick sometimes, but not an asshole."

"Again with that winning bedside manner."

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Before Chuck could protest, the rotten sod moved on. "Now, do you really hate yourself?"

Sighing as the dry humor faded, he shifted and crossed his arms, uncomfortable all over again.

"Here, let's go about this another way."

Raleigh took his arm back, which was definitely not what Chuck wanted, then shifted to lean back against the arm of the couch.

"Would this be too much contact?"

Hesitant -- not because he _didn't_ want to crawl over that solid, gorgeous body and curl up against it but because he wanted it a little too much, and not even just for the wrong reasons -- Chuck scooted over, then cautiously lay on his side. The second his cheek lay against the ridiculous softness of the mossy green jumper and Raleigh wrapped his arms around him, all possible awkwardness bled away and Chuck felt... safe. Sheltered, maybe.

Protected?

"Better?"

All he could do was nod. The bloke was a mellow furnace wrapped about him, and if Chuck had his say, he'd never move again.

"Good. Better enough to talk about it?"

He sighed heavily. "Can we not? I'm really, really comfortable right now. That counts as progress, yeah?"

Then, the ratbag cheated. He stroked his fingers through Chuck's hair.

Jesus. It felt so damn good. He didn't think he'd ever felt anything like it. Had his mum ever stroked her fingers though his hair? She must have, but he had no memory of it.

Closing his eyes, he curled up on himself. It was too much. He didn't want Raleigh to stop, but he didn't know how to feel about it, either.

"Chuck? I need you to check in with me, okay? Is this too much? Do you want to go back to just sitting side by side?"

His head shook without his permission, the jumper as smooth as rabbit fur against his cheek. He just... it was so much to process. Soft yarn over a hard chest. Warmth all about him. That strong arm holding him close but not too tight or restrictive. The tingle in his scalp from the brush of fingers through his hair. And that scent... Raleigh all around him....

"Okay. We don't have to talk anymore today."

Some of the tension went out of him, and he sighed with relief. He could obsess over whether or not he hated himself later. For now, he just wanted to experience this. Maybe even enjoy it. Maybe even, just for a moment, let himself be happy, whether he deserved it or not.

And when he asked Raleigh to stay another hour, he did. No questions asked.


	9. Chapter 9

As expected, Chuck obsessed about it. It lingered in the back of his mind during class. It dwelled in the front of his mind whilst he walked home or tried not to interact on the bus. It throbbed with his elevated heartrate as he worked himself to near-exhaustion in the home gym in his guest room. He gnawed it over whilst he cooked and baked and sorted through favorite recipes for something new to make for his next cuddle session.

Did he hate himself? Did he think he didn't deserve to be happy? Did he think happiness was impossible?

Sure, he wasn't the nicest guy in the world. At various points, he'd been called abrasive, obnoxious, off-putting, arrogant, condescending, and caustic. He didn't usually deny the accusations because he didn't usually give a shit about whoever was making them.

Yes, he was abrasive. He didn't want people around, didn't want to be the center of attention. He wanted to be good at anything he put his hand to, yes, but not to receive accolades. Just... he liked being the best. Liked working hard and seeing the results of that. But he didn't want everyone fluttering around him and driving him bugshit about it.

So he was obnoxious and off-putting. It got the job done keeping the assholes away. He didn't hate himself for that. In fact, that part of his personality, he didn't mind so much.

And he didn't particularly think he was arrogant. Proud of his accomplishments, yes, but the only person whose face he rubbed them in was his old man's, and that was more to show him that he was worthy. That he wasn't just useless baggage from the old life being dragged along behind--

Holy shit.

Thank God he was already on the couch for that one, or he'd have probably collapsed to the floor trying to sit down. As it was, he curled up on his side against the arm of the couch and tried to remember how it felt when Raleigh held him there. How it felt good, felt safe, felt like the big bloke could make just about anything better.

When that didn't work, he reached for his mobile.

"Oi, Chuck? What's wrong? Are you all right?"

He closed his eyes, wishing he could be amused. He never rang his old man. Of course the poor sod would think something was wrong.

"I'm okay, Dad." But he honestly wasn't sure. And he could feel his mouth getting ready to blurt. "Am I just baggage you carry around as a reminder of Mum?"

"What? No. Who said anything like that?"

The incredulity in his father's tone relieved him so greatly he almost felt sick with it. He didn't doubt that the old man could lie when he needed to, but not on the fly, and not with that much emotion.

His voice, when he recovered enough of it to speak, was hoarse. "No one. I just... got to thinking, and... maybe I'm... maybe I'm an arrogant jackass because... I want you to... to _see_ me. And be proud of me."

Herc's voice came back strong and sure. "Jesus, I _am_ proud of you, kid. Are you taking the piss? Top of your class running three years ahead of your age group, more scholarships than I even knew existed, and you're working so damn hard on your therapy and making more progress than I dared to hope for."

His eyes squeezed shut, and he desperately reached for that sense of safety, of warmth, of how comfortable he'd come to feel with Raleigh's solid strength pressed against him.

"I _am_ proud of you, Chuck. You're not baggage. You're my son." Great, now Herc's voice was getting scratchy. "My _son."_

He swallowed hard, but it didn't help. He still only barely managed a whisper.

"Thanks, Dad."

_I love you. I'm sorry I'm an asshole. I'm trying to be better._

But he couldn't say any of that. Soon, maybe, but not yet.

Herc cleared his throat. It worked a bit better than Chuck's throat-clenching swallow had.

"Don't suppose... you maybe wanna get lunch tomorrow? I could swing by the campus."

Huh. That wasn't something his old man had ever once suggested. His kneejerk urge was to plead out, say he was hitting the library during his break and would be studying after class until just before his session later.

But he was trying to be better, at least to the two people he actually cared about.

"Yeah. I'd... I'd like that. Dad."

"Great. That's great." The relief in his father's voice was funny in a sad way. "Meet you in the caf?"

"Right. Class is out at 11:45. I'll just walk over, yeah?"

"Right. G'night, son. I'm... I'm glad you rang me up."

Herc rang off before he could reply, for which Chuck was infinitely grateful. He had no idea how to respond. He thought... he might be glad, too. He wasn't used to turning to someone for comfort when he felt like shit, so the idea that he could just ring up his old man was... weird. But maybe good, too.

He really wanted to talk to Raleigh, though. He wanted to tell the bloke that he didn't hate himself; he was just afraid he was nothing but an obligation and an irritating reminder to his old man all these years. He thought Raleigh might be proud of him for ringing Herc up, too.

And he'd offer to pay for an hour of cuddling, because he really needed it right now.

Thank God his appointment was tomorrow. He wasn't sure he could wait any longer.


	10. Chapter 10

"Had lunch with my old man today."

Raleigh raised his eyebrows and licked buttery cinnamon off his fingers. Monkey bread was the best idea ever, because Chuck would never get tired of watching the pretty sod lick his fingers like that.

_Focus, Chuck._

"I had a bit of a meltdown last night and rang him up to ask... well, he thought it'd be nice to meet me on campus for lunch."

Ugh. Now the rotten bastard was licking his lips.

"And was it?"

_Important conversation, jackass. Keep it in your pants._

"Uh... yeah, actually. We didn't talk much, but it was... we'd never done that before. Just... sat in the caf and ate sandwiches and crisps." Despite the seriousness of the confession and his fascination with pretty much everything Raleigh's mouth was doing right now, Chuck grinned softly. "Even talked him into going over to the art building afterward and looking into auditing some classes."

Jesus. That fucking smile. It was slow and warm and still somehow lit up the bloke's entire gorgeous face. So not fair.

"That is... Chuck, it's _outstanding._ You guys are really starting to connect." He shook his head. "I'm impressed."

Blushing, he jerked his likely adoring gaze away, forcing himself to stare at his own pile of monkey bread. "Thanks, mate."

They were quiet a long moment, side by side on the couch, picking at their sweets. Chuck wasn't fooled, though. Raleigh wasn't an idiot. It was only a matter of time before the bloked asked.

Sure enough: "Do you want to talk about the meltdown?"

He huffed something that wasn't quite a laugh. "Knew I wouldn't get off that easy."

"You brought it up."

"I did."

And he _did_ want to talk about it. He'd just... wanted to work up to it. Maybe be all wrapped up in Raleigh's comfortable warmth for it.

Swallowing hard, he shot the bloke a pleading look and gestured toward the arm of the couch. "Could we...?"

Raleigh, never a fool, immediately abandoned his plate and settled back. Enormously relieved, Chuck cuddled up against him on his side again, curling up and laying his cheek on the hard curve of that broad chest. Raleigh's arms went around him, and he sighed.

"Been thinking about... what I blurted Tuesday. About whether or not I hate myself, if I think I shouldn't be happy. Or _can't_ be happy."

"Ah."

Thank God, but the intuitive bastard started running his fingers through Chuck's hair again, and it was exactly what he needed. Closing his eyes, he relaxed and let his mouth run, as it always seemed to do when the bloke was around.

"I think I decided... that I don't hate myself. But... maybe I thought... _Dad_ hated me. Or didn't really want me. Just sort of dragged me along because I was an obligation when he'd rather have carried on alone."

"Mm."

"But when we were at that Italian place, he said I should've _always_ been his priority, that I should've been from the start, yeah?" God, the hair-stroking was impossibly comforting. "And when I rang him up last night to ask him if... if I was just an obligation... 'cause I got to thinking, mate: what if I'm aways shoving my successes in his face because I want him to be proud of me? Because I want to be worth him hauling me about like so much useless fucking luggage? Like an old suitcase you never really liked that never quite held enough clothes, but it was a gift from some relative who'll be crushed if you don't use it?"

The rotten sod chuckled, but Chuck didn't blame him. It _was_ a good image, though it cut a bit too close to the bone. Plus, the chuckle felt nice rumbling through that hard chest right against his cheek.

"But he said... Ray, he said he _is_ proud of me, and he was so... so fucking _stunned_ that I could think he wasn't. And he said I'm not baggage. I'm his _son."_

He curled up tighter, his knees almost to his chest, and Raleigh murmured softly, tightening the arm around him.

"I dunno, mate. Maybe he heard some of it in my voice or whatever, but he asked if maybe we could meet up for lunch. And I almost wanted to say no, but I said yes, instead."

"I'm glad you did."

He nodded. He was glad, too. It had been a nice, quiet, low-key thing, nothing flashy or showy. He hadn't even hugged the old bastard at the end. But it was... a step. Proof that they were both trying.

But his mouth apparently wasn't done blurting yet. "I wanted to ring you up last night after I talked to Dad, though. Wanted to ask if you could come a day early." He swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Just... wanted to feel like this."

The slow, steady stroking through his hair didn't stop or slow, but Chuck couldn't miss that big body tensing below him, and his nervousness ratcheted up a notch.

"And how does this feel?"

He didn't even have to think about his answer. "Safe."

Because even with nerves clenching his gut, he felt safer right now, curled up against his goddamn cuddle therapist, than he'd felt since his mum was alive. He didn't think even his old man could make him feel this... content? It seemed a strange word to use whilst he was two shakes shy of squirming with nervousness, but it felt true, nonetheless.

"Safe is good, Chuck. I'm glad."

But the bloke hadn't relaxed.

"...But...?"

Raleigh sighed, slumping a bit. "But nothing. I'm glad you feel safe right now."

 _Right now._ The bloke hadn't emphasized them, but the words seemed important. And after a moment's thought, Chuck thought he knew why.

"But you can't give me your number."

That strong arm tightened around him. "No. I can't."

"Because you're my therapist?"

A pause. Then, very carefully: "Yes and no."

Frowning, he opened his eyes and eyed the monkey bread as if it had done something wrong. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Please don't get upset."

He sat up, pulling away when he wanted nothing more than to stay cuddled up against the gorgeous sod for the rest of the night. Hell, the rest of the weekend. He wasn't picky.

But Raleigh wouldn't meet his eyes, and that did not bode well.

"What does 'yes and no' mean, Ray?"

Chuck had sat up but not scooted away, so the poor bloke really had nowhere to go. One leg was trapped along the back of the couch. For the first time, his seemingly unshakeable cuddle therapist looked blatantly uncomfortable.

"It means there isn't exactly a rule against it, but it's not encouraged, either. We're supposed to use our judgment."

He wanted to be offended. The Chuck from a few weeks back would have shot right past offended and into throwing punches. But he was trying not to be that Chuck anymore, so he grit his teeth and tried to reason it out instead of jumping to conclusions.

"And your judgment says not to give me your number."

More carefully still: "I think... it wouldn't be conducive to your progress."

Yeah. Offended. He wouldn't lash out, but he couldn't help feeling... slighted. He was supposedly doing well, so why would being able to contact his goddamn therapist if he had a bad moment _not_ be conducive?

"Chuck, please. You're doing really well on your own. I don't want--" Those pretty blue eyes met his for a second before flitting away again. "With this kind of therapy, it's easy to become dependent on your PPDC caseworker instead of finding people to be intimate and close with in your everyday life."

Okay. Okay, that... made sense. And Chuck supposed he might actually be as dependent on Raleigh as the bloke obviously feared, because all he'd wanted last night was to cuddle up against that specific body and breathe in that specific scent until he felt better. No one else would do.

He definitely hadn't wanted to hug his old man. They weren't yet to a point where that would be more comforting than awkward.

So, instead of flaring up, he tried to be reasonable. "So you don't want me to have your number because you think I'm developing an unhealthy attachment."

"You wanted to talk to your dad, but you didn't want to hug him. You wanted to call me for that. Until you have other people to seek comfort from, I think... yes." It was almost worse when the bloke finally met his gaze. "Chuck, I'm the first person you've let yourself be physically close to in, what, a decade?"

Dammit. The ratbag had a point. But Chuck didn't like it. Setting his jaw, he glared at the telly, which was still playing whatever the hell movie he'd put on when they first sat down.

"This therapy is supposed to help you find closeness and intimacy with people in your own life, not accidentally make you entirely dependent on your caseworker for that closeness."

"But I _trust_ you." There went his mouth, again. Running all on its own. At least it tended to tell the truth when it did so. "Not that I don't trust my old man, but... fuck. I dunno how to say it."

And he was starting to feel desperate because, if Raleigh felt he was becoming too attached....

"Just... it feels safe with you, yeah? It wouldn't feel safe with anyone else."

The bloke lowered his head and crossed his arms. Uh-oh. "I'm glad it does, Chuck, but you can't _only_ get that from me."

"But why?"

Too desperate. He heard the desperation in his tone and was helpless to stop it. Dammit, he was proving the rotten sod right, and... fuck.

"Chuck. We only have two sessions left. You have to start thinking about... after."

Jesus. Two sessions. Herc had paid for two sessions a week for a month, and... Jesus. How had he not realized...?

"I'll pay for another month. You _know_ I'm not ready to let anyone else in, Ray. Jesus, I only let _you_ in because you refused to let me keep you out, dammit!"

The anger was probably out of place, but he embraced it. It was so much better than the cold fear that had filled him at the thought of only two more sessions.

"You can't just leave me like this after showing me that I fucking _need_ to be close to someone."

Though Chuck refused to move, Raleigh somehow managed to stand up. It was awkward and probably would have been funny in other circumstances, but the bloke somehow got to his feet without falling on his perfect ass or kicking Chuck in the head.

"I have to go now."

That cold feeling deepened until it felt like he'd swallowed a gallon of ice water. "We still have ten minutes."

Oh, shit. The bloke closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I'm recommending that Tendo send another caseworker for your last two sessions. You need to be able to include other people in your inner circle. To feel safe with more than just me."

That got him to his feet in a hurry, and before he knew it, he was right up in the pretty bastard's face, not sure if he wanted to kiss him or punch him. Or both, one right after the other.

"You are some kind of asshole, Ray."

_Don't do it. Don't chase him off. Don't do what you always fucking do and end up alone all over again, jackass!_

"It must be really fucking easy for you to tell someone it's okay to rely on other people for comfort and closeness when the one person they got that from fucking _died,_ then fuck off just when they've come to rely on you."

_Look at his face, asshole! Don't do it!_

Because Raleigh looked... pale. Sick, even with his eyes closed and his head down.

"Jesus, this is why I didn't want any of this shite in the first place. You know what, Ray? You know what I'm finding out?"

_Stop. Just stop now before--_

"I was right all along. Other people are unreliable assholes, and you're the goddamn worst of a bad lot. I was better off on my own. At least then, I knew who to fucking trust."

_You fucking did it._

Breathing hard, he glared at that beautiful goddamn face from barely a breath away and wished he'd never heard of Raleigh--

What the fuck was his last name? It didn't fucking matter.

Until the wanker opened his eyes and that fucking blue swamped him all over again. Jesus, how did someone just walk around with eyes like that?

Those big, warm hands suddenly touched his face, cupping his jaws. He felt that gentle contact like an electrical wire right through him, and it shut him up like nothing else could have. Raleigh looked at him, those eyes so goddamn _intent,_ then leaned in and... and kissed him.

If he'd felt enveloped in the bloke whilst lying against him, he now felt drowned by him. Every thought went right out of his head, and there was nothing but full, soft lips, the growing heat of gentle hands on his face, the barest taste of buttery sweetness, and, God, that scent. Light cologne, fabric softener, and Raleigh.

He'd fucked any number of times, but none of those encounters had affected him even a fraction as much as this.

Overwhelmed, he could only stare as Raleigh pulled back just enough to let a breath shudder out. Eyes still closed, the beautiful son of a bitch licked his lower lip.

"The client isn't the only one in danger of getting too attached."

Jesus. The bloke's voice was low and... and broken. It rolled through him like warm honey, melting the icy feeling of imminent abandonment inside him and leaving him honest-to-God weak in the knees.

"You're so much stronger than you think you are, Chuck. You're gonna be fine." Raleigh sighed and finally opened his eyes and... Jesus. Not again with that drowning blue. "But I care about you entirely too much to _not_ know that you only need me because you haven't let yourself need anyone else."

He had no words. He couldn't have spoken if someone put a gun to his head.

And Raleigh... Raleigh looked like he'd been stabbed somewhere vital and was trying to smile whilst he bled out.

"What I just did was both unprofessional and beyond wrong." Still quirking that fucking tragic smile, the bastard finally let go of Chuck's face and backed away. "So I have to go now. Tendo will send another caseworker next week. Give them a chance, okay?"

Still overwhelmed and unable to process, Chuck just stood there as Raleigh walked out of his flat and closed the door behind him.

What. What now.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

His knees unhinged and sat him down on the couch without his permission. The place where Raleigh usually sat felt cold, vast, and empty beside him.

And Chuck had never felt more alone in his life.


	11. Chapter 11

If he'd obsessed over whether or not he hated himself, Chuck had no words for how fixated he was on Raleigh kissing him and walking away.

First, he thought he must have done something wrong. He was always the fuck-up when it came to emotions, so he was the obvious choice. His stupid crush -- he couldn't even lay claim to deeper feelings; all he knew about the bloke was that he had a brother, was in the military, and had almost been killed once and felt guilty as hell about it -- must have been so fucking obvious.

But... _Raleigh_ had kissed _him._ Chuck couldn't possibly have looked ready for a kiss. He'd been too damn angry and scared.

So, even if his stupid crush had been obvious to the world, Raleigh sure as hell hadn't minded. Other than perhaps thinking Chuck was too attached. Which he was, but that was beside the point.

So maybe... he _hadn't_ done something wrong. And, thinking back, Raleigh had taken the blame on himself. Said what _he'd_ done was both wrong and unprofessional, to boot.

On one hand, Chuck could even admit the bloke was right. In any other case, a therapist -- okay, a caseworker -- getting involved with a client was wrong. It took advantage of the trust implicit in the therapist/patient relationship. Hell, Raleigh even said it himself: the bloke was the first person Chuck had allowed that close in over a decade. Taking advantage of a touch-starved person who was suddenly getting most of the touch he wanted was, like Raleigh had said, _beyond_ wrong.

On the other hand, Chuck didn't give one tin shit about that. Raleigh hadn't taken advantage. Jesus, Chuck had damn near climbed him like a tree from Day One, though he'd had no idea if the bloke even went for other blokes. If anyone had taken advantage, it was Chuck.

He was the one who paid Raleigh to stay longer. Twice.

He was the one who couldn't fucking hug anyone else and had thrown himself on the poor sod more times than he cared to remember.

And he would absolutely have paid the gorgeous bastard to keep coming over and cuddling him for another month and another month and another month. Maybe, eventually, they could have....

But not now. Raleigh thought he'd taken advantage, and he'd left. Some other poor soul would have to come try to cuddle him, and Chuck could already feel himself steeling against it. He didn't want another stranger in his place. Two sessions wasn't enough to get comfortable enough with another new person to... cuddle.To lay his cheek on their chest and let them hold him and run fingers through his hair.

He just wanted Raleigh. But Raleigh wouldn't be back.

Well, that didn't mean he had to let someone else in. He'd focus on his relationship with his old man and maybe be a bit more touchy-feely with the occasional hook-up and call it good.

Decided, though not feeling better for it, he mulled it over all weekend just to be sure, then rang up his old man.

"Oi, Chuck." Herc sounded distracted but otherwise glad to hear from him. "Everything all right? I've got a bit of a surprise for you this afternoon, so I hope you're not cancelling."

God, it sounded so... normal-people. He couldn't help but grin a bit. "No, not cancelling. Just wondering if you had the number for that cuddle therapy place."

"Need to change a time slot?"

He closed his eyes. "Something like that." No need for Herc to know until the money was back in his account. "Do you have it handy?"

"Yeah, got it right here." But Herc paused, then sounded hesitant when he spoke again. "You sure you're all right, son? You sound... a bit off."

Had they really come so far? Not only that Herc dared to ask but that the old man had heard and recognized that Chuck wasn't okay in the first place?

One thing was for sure: no matter what Raleigh had or hadn't done, Chuck was grateful. It felt damn good to know his father was concerned about him. Was getting to know him well enough to know when something wasn't right.

So he decided to be honest.

"I'm... uh... not exactly, Dad. I'm cancelling the last two sessions."

"What? Why?" The distraction was long gone. Herc was officially paying full attention. "I thought... I mean, everything was going so well."

"It was. It is. Just...." Okay, _mostly_ honest. "Raleigh says... he thinks I might be too... dependent on him. That I need to be able to be comfortable around more than just him and you."

There. That was the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough.

Herc was quiet a moment. "Okay. I reckon that... makes sense. But why cancel, then?"

Damn. A little more truth, then.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "He wanted to send someone else out. But I don't _want_ another therapist, Dad. Raleigh... was exactly what I needed. But now I've got to... he's right." Dammit. "So I'm focusing on sorting things with you. Down the line, I might be ready to try it... out there, but for now, I'm where I want to be."

He wasn't. But Raleigh said he was strong, said he'd be fine. Usually, Chuck practically lived to prove people wrong. This time, he wanted nothing more than to prove the bloke right.

No way would he roll over and hide just because he couldn't help but feel abandoned.

Herc sighed. "All right, son. If you're sure."

He wasn't. "I am. I mean, thanks for thinking of it. It helped. It helped enormously. But... I've gotten what I need from it."

Which was an outright lie. But it was the only one, and he only felt a bit bad for it. He didn't want his old man to worry. Concern was nice, but worry was too much.

He managed a bit more chitchat, but as soon as Herc gave him the number, he rang off and geared himself up, sitting in Raleigh's usual spot on the couch. Raleigh may think Chuck was strong, but he wasn't sure he had the fortitude for this last bit. To cut all ties.

But he didn't want anyone in his space. Anyone _else._

Someone picked up on the second ring. "Shatterdome Associates, this is Tendo. Can I help you?"

He took a deep breath. "I hope so, mate. I need to cancel my last two appointments and have the fees refunded to my father's account."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Was there some problem?"

Shit. Would this get Raleigh in trouble? Fuck, he didn't want that.

"No, not at all. In fact, the therapy worked great." Was he sweating? It felt like he was sweating. "My ther-- uh, caseworker said I was ahead of schedule, in fact."

Well, not in so many words. Close enough.

"Good. I'm relieved to hear that. Okay, can I get your name please?"

"Chuck Hansen."

"Right. Here you are. You were set up with Mako for tomorrow and for Friday night, right?"

Who the hell was Mako?

"Sure?"

"Ooookay. We have your last two appointments cancelled. The appointments were paid in advance, so the refund should be back in the account in three business days or less."

"Excellent. Thanks, mate."

"You're very welcome. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

_Don't do it._

"I don't suppose... Raleigh might be there? He was my caseworker. My first caseworker, anyway." He was babbling, but he couldn't stop. "Just... he did a great job, and I'd like to thank him again."

The bloke on the other end paused just long enough that Chuck knew something was off.

"Uh... no, sir. I'm sorry. Raleigh... isn't here."

Frowning, he leaned against the arm of the couch and futilely wished Raleigh was between him and it. "You sound... is he all right, then? Nothing's wrong?"

"He's fine."

The answer was reassuringly quick, but the bloke's voice still sounded off from his prior pleasant professionalism.

"Then...?"

"Well... I'm sorry to say that... Raleigh doesn't work here anymore."

Jesus. Jesus, did the bloke tell them about the kiss? Ugh, that sounded like something the too-goddamn-honest jackass would do.

"Oi, how's that then?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's really all I can say. His privacy is just as important to us as yours. I'm sure you understand."

Well, fuck. Now he couldn't even argue.

But he wanted to. Had the bloke been fired? Surely not. Raleigh was... just... _good._ Even when he was being stubborn, being a smartass, he was _good._ Sympathetic, always just the right tone, always a quiet joke when Chuck needed to get out of his head for a moment.

Please, God, one stupid kiss hadn't ended such a good man's career.

And the voice was still waiting on the other end. Clearing his throat, he tried to force himself to sound normal instead of gutted and spitted.

"Uh, right. No, I understand." Taking a deep breath, he gave himself one last hope. "Could you... maybe do me a favor?"

"I can try, sir."

"If you see him... could you give him my thanks? Tell him...." _I'm sorry? I fucked up? If I close my eyes long enough I can almost taste your mouth? I just want to lie against you for the rest of my life?_ "Tell him he helped. And he was right: I'm gonna be fine."

Because it sounded like the last thing Raleigh needed to worry about was some sad sack he'd kissed once.

The voice on the other end warmed. "I can tell him that, sir. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it."

"Good. Thank you."

He rang off, then just stared at his phone. What would Raleigh do now? He said he hadn't done a residency, so he couldn't go elsewhere and be a therapist. And if he'd admitted to some overblown level of "inappropriate" conduct with a client, who the fuck would hire him? Did the bloke have other skills?

Huddling up against the couch's arm, he tried to hug himself and acknowledged that it wasn't the same. He didn't feel comforted at all.

But Raleigh was smart. Intuitive as fuck. Personable, adaptable, good-looking, able-bodied. He'd find another job in a heartbeat. Maybe not one as well-suited as a goddamn cuddle therapist -- because, seriously, what Chuck needed right now more than anything was a hug against that particular chest with those particular arms -- but the bloke wouldn't starve.

Jesus. He really had come a long way. He was worried sick about a bloke he barely even knew instead of focusing on his own bullshit.

Or maybe it wasn't just a stupid crush, after all.

Sighing, he curled up against the couch arm and closed his eyes. It didn't matter if it was a crush or not.

Raleigh was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

If Herc lived another forty years, he would still remember the look on his son's face when he pulled a bulldog pup out from under his vest like a rabbit from a hat. At two months old, it was a squirmy, wriggly ball of wrinkles, and Chuck was officially a goner.

Grinning, Herc handed the little wiggler over, and the puppy made quick work of licking as much of Chuck's face as it could reach.

"Was thinking of calling him Max."

Beaming, his kid gently scruffed behind the floppy ears, earning a tiny puppy groan. "He looks like a Max."

Without a word, they both went into the living room and sat down on the floor to let Max get a good sniff of another new place. Within five minutes, the little sod had the lay of the land and came back to further acquaint himself with Chuck. It was ridiculously adorable to watch the kid try not to make hearteyes at the wrinkly little bastard.

When he was sure Chuck felt better, he broached the subject.

"Oi, son, you looked a bit down when you opened the door."

The old stubbornness hardened those familiar features, but just as Herc resigned himself to being shut down, Chuck surprised him yet again by deliberately softening. He could almost see the kid convincing himself it was okay to talk. To let Herc in.

"Just... miss Raleigh."

Because he wasn't a goddamn idiot, Herc didn't point out that Raleigh wouldn't have been here until tomorrow, anyway. He knew that wasn't the point.

"He's a good bloke. That's for sure."

Frowning, the poor kid picked up the puppy, letting it lick his face again. "When I called to cancel my appointments, they said... he wasn't there anymore."

He blinked. "Why's that, then?"

"Dunno."

It seemed ridiculously easy for Chuck to cuddle the puppy. Maybe Herc should've thought of adopting a dog sooner. If only it were that easy for him to reach out to people.

"They couldn't tell me. I dunno if he quit, or... if he was let go or what."

"Surely, they wouldn't let a solid bloke like that go."

Because Raleigh Becket was a goddamn miracle worker. The current conversation was case in fucking point. He and his son hadn't spoken this freely in... hell, maybe never.

But Chuck just shrugged and hugged the little wiggler to his chest. And just like that, Herc knew. His difficult, abrasive son had gone and fallen for his cuddle therapist. It explained why the poor kid had cancelled his last two sessions -- the ones that wouldn't be with Raleigh. Why he wasn't acting like himself -- either closed off like he was before or hesitantly trying to be open, as he'd been recently -- and why he'd looked so lost when he opened the door earlier.

And Raleigh must have known, which explained everything else. The worry that Chuck was becoming too dependent. The switch to another caseworker.

Well, shit. This was _not_ what he'd intended when he asked Stacker for help.

"Son... I...."

Chuck glanced up, saw the realization all over him, and sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know. I couldn't help it."

Honestly, Herc didn't blame him. He'd only seen Raleigh the once, but he'd certainly noticed the bloke was easy on the eyes. From talking with Chuck, it was also clear the pretty sod was intelligent, sympathetic, insightful, a good listener, and an even better cuddler. In fact, if Herc were ten or fifteen years younger, he might've been in danger of falling himself, and he'd barely talked to the bloke.

Of course, that might just be gratitude talking. He sure as hell owed the kid more than he'd paid for those sessions.

"Thought it was just one-sided. No way a bloke like that could want someone as fucked up and obnoxious as me, yeah?"

"Chuck--"

"But he kissed me, Dad."

He blinked, thrown off his stride. In fact, his mind went completely blank of possible reactions.

"He said he thought I was too dependent on him, yeah, but the client isn't the only one who can get too attached, and he cared too much to... fuck." The poor kid hugged the puppy close, and the little wiggler must have sensed something wrong because it just cuddled back without protest. "I was too... I don't remember how he put it. Something about how he knew I only needed him because he was the first person I'd allowed myself to need, maybe? And kissing me was unprofessional and inappropriate and he had to leave and send someone else out next time. And he was gone. Just like that."

So much to unpackage, there, and Herc wasn't honestly sure he could be objective enough to do so. On one hand, he wanted to sing hallelujah that Chuck had actually fallen for someone who maybe liked him back. On the other hand, fucking-A right it was inappropriate for a therapist to get involved with a patient. On a third hand, the fucking Boy Scout knew it was wrong and left before anything too inappropriate happened and even explained it so Chuck wouldn't feel like it was his fault, which was damn thoughtful.

On the last hand, Chuck looked fucking devastated, so none of that shit mattered. Raleigh may be trying to be a good guy, but the bloke obviously couldn't know how closely Charles Hansen guarded his heart. If the kid had allowed himself to get close enough to actually admit to a crush, he was serious.

Out of nowhere, Chuck sighed. "Dad, don't. I know that look. I don't want you going into battle over this."

Blushing, he cleared his throat. "I'm not--"

"He's right, okay?"

Sighing again, the kid put Max down on the floor and gave him a few good strokes, then let him go to bugger off if he wanted. The puppy didn't want. Grinning softly, Chuck obligingly went back to scruffing all the wrinkles.

"I probably did get too attached, and he _is_ basically my therapist, so it probably is unhealthy somehow. He _is_ the first person I've let close, and it's not like I'm out there dating and showing that I can get close to other people besides him to prove him wrong. And I don't want to. I just... want him."

Still uncomfortable and wishing he could actually _do_ something, Herc shrugged. "You're getting close to me, yeah?" _Please say yes._ "I mean, we're talking right now, aren't we?"

Now, it was Chuck's turn to blush. "Yeah, Dad. We... we are." He shrugged uncomfortably. "But I'm still not comfortable with... y'know... cuddling you, and I couldn't get enough of cuddling Raleigh."

"But isn't that case in point? That you _are_ capable of being close to other people without being _too_ close? That maybe being so attached to him is regular attraction instead of... inappropriate?"

Sighing, the poor kid helped Max climb up on his thigh, where the little sod curled up and closed his eyes.

"I dunno, Dad. I'm... fuck, I just... I'm so confused. I dunno how much of what I feel for him is because of the therapy being designed to help me trust people enough to let them close and how much is because he's fucking gorgeous and kind and smart and solid and pretty much everything I ever wanted." Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I mean, I barely know anything about him. We talked about me the whole goddamn time. What if _that's_ what I like about him?"

Dammit. Herc couldn't argue with that. He wanted to, but he couldn't.

Besides, Chuck wasn't quite done yet. "So he left. Because of that. Because what if it turns out I was just attached because he's such a bloody good therapist, whilst he actually _likes_ me? Wouldn't be fair to him, would it?"

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, despite how much it clearly meant to his son and how much he wanted to do something to help, Herc couldn't help but smile softly. He probably looked like an idiot, but he was so surprised and so goddamn proud. Less than a month ago, Chuck wouldn't have cared about any of this. In fact, in retrospect, he was surprised the little shite hadn't tried to jump Raleigh's bones at first glance and dropped the therapy before it even started.

But there Chuck sat, gently stroking the puppy sleeping on his thigh, wearing his heart on his sleeve in front of Herc, of all people, and worrying about someone else's emotions as much as his own.

His kid was goddamn amazing.

"Chuck?"

"Hm?"

He waited until his son looked up from the sleeping puppy, then smiled again. "I love you. You know that, right?"

Chuck's face immediately turned bright red, and he cleared his throat and squirmed, disturbing Max, who grunted his displeasure. "I, uh... not what we're talking about, but... I guess?"

"Good. Now, what's for dinner?"

The kid eyed him suspiciously. "London broil. You're really gonna drop it, just like that?"

He shoved to his feet, his knees aching more than he liked. He wasn't _that_ old, dammit. Just... he'd fallen out of his daily exercise regimen since retiring, and taking Max for walkies was a bit more energetic than he'd expected. The little bastard was a lot more feisty than his waddly little body suggested.

No way in hell would he admit that to Chuck, though.

"For now, yeah. You need a break, and it smells amazing, whatever it is."

Still suspicious -- and still blushing, which was adorable -- Chuck edged the puppy off his thigh and stood up, then snorted when the little blighter yipped up at him.

"Lazy little sod. I'm not carrying you to the table. It's right fucking there."

They settled down to eat soon enough, and talk turned to other things. It was a far cry from their earlier attempts at "family" dinner, with both of them miserable and angry, neither of them having anything polite or encouraging to say. Now, though, they talked about Max, about whether Herc should start with two art classes or three, how few semesters Chuck had left before finishing his degrees, what the hell Chuck did to the meat to make it so goddamn tender.

And, though neither of them consulted on it, they both fed little tidbits to the puppy running back and forth between them, his little claws ticking on the linoleum, his stubby little tail wagging his whole butt in his excitement.

And if Herc left early enough to make a certain call to a certain old friend and play the "I just wanna be there for my son and I'll buy you a bottle of the best Scotch I can find" card, well... Chuck didn't have to know.

Yet.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a nice enough street. The line of brownstones could've felt crowded, but somehow, they didn't. Herc stood on the sidewalk in the cool morning sunlight, Max sniffing at the leg of the nearest bench, and looked up one way and down the other, impressed and not bothering to hide it. This was an older neighborhood, but the people living here took good care of it.

Graceful trees grew at tasteful intervals along the walkway. The sidewalks were paved with quaint cobblestone, and green lawns abounded with overflowing flower pots and hanging baskets spilling over with petunias and sweet potato vines. Every little patch of property was colorful and homey and welcoming.

Nodding, Herc climbed the steps of what he sincerely hoped was the right address and rang the bell as Max huffed and grunted his way up behind him at the end of his retractable leash. This was a long shot, and he knew it, but he had to try. If the bloke was gone, he'd just try again later.

"Coming!"

Well, someone was home, anyway. He straightened, then belatedly flicked the button on the handle in his hand to keep the leash from paying out in case Max got the idea to just run in as soon as Raleigh answered.

The door opened, and... that wasn't Raleigh. Was it? Maybe Herc hadn't gotten that good a look--

"Can I help you?"

He was pretty sure that didn't sound like Raleigh, either, but again, it was close enough to leave him feeling off-kilter. Bewildered, he glanced up at the number above the door. Yup. Forty-nine.

"Is Raleigh here?"

The not-quite-right face, which had begun to show signs of wariness, relaxed. "Just got back, yeah. Are you a friend of his?"

Awkward.

"Uh... not exactly, no. I'm... never mind. Can I maybe have a word with him?"

"Sure." The bloke backed inside. "C'mon in. He should be down any minute."

Fucking _awkward._

"Uh... sorry, mate. Dunno if he'd be okay with me coming in. I don't wanna make him uncomfortable or anything."

The wariness came back. A brother, maybe? The general features matched up -- sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, strong jaw -- but this bloke looked a bit older somehow. Not quite as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, maybe.

"Does he actually know you?"

"Yes." Relieved, he nodded with confidence. "I just... it's complicated. I don't want him to feel like I'm just barging in, yeah?"

Still wary but with curiosity edging out the suspicion, the bloke nodded. "Wait here?"

"Will do."

The door shut, and Herc fidgeted with Max's leash whilst he waited. The puppy, tuckered out from the long climb up steps that were nearly as high as him, had plunked himself down on his boot and seemed in no hurry to move, let alone bolt away. Just as Herc debated the wisdom of scooting over to sit on the concrete ledge around the stoop, the door jerked open and Raleigh -- that was definitely the bloke he'd greeted at Chuck's flat -- practically fell through it.

The bloke caught himself quickly enough and managed to look sheepish without actually blushing. "Oh. Hey, Mr. Hansen."

He couldn't help himself. His eyebrows rose of their own volition.

 _Now_ the pretty sod blushed. "Sorry. Yance said a big ginger guy with an Australian accent was asking for me, and...."

The poor kid put a hand behind his head, and Herc sighed. Yeah. He definitely saw the attraction.

"And you thought maybe it was Chuck."

"Uh." The bloke had clearly just come from the shower, what with the still-wet hair, but Herc was willing to bet the heat of that epic blush would put him right back in it. "Yeah, maybe. Look, sir, I swear I didn't--"

He put up a hand, and the kid shut up, looking apprehensive as fuck.

"I'm not here to yell at you. I'm here to ask if you'll give him a chance."

That brought the bloke up short, and he frowned a bit as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't... sir, that's not... a good idea."

He raised one eyebrow. "For him or for you?"

After a moment's consideration, the poor sod stepped fully onto the stoop and closed the door behind him. "For either of us. What'd he tell you?"

A fair enough question. He decided to sit on the ledge after all. Once he settled, Max plopped back down on his boot and huffed a little groan. For a moment, Raleigh grinned softly and clearly wanted to sidetrack them to the puppy, but the kid quickly firmed his expression and waited, instead.

Herc nodded, glad the bloke was willing to take this seriously. "He said you wanted to send out a different therapist because you think he's become too attached to you, and when he protested, you kissed him and told him it wasn't just the client who could become too attached, but that it wasn't appropriate so you had to leave." His eyes narrowed -- not in suspicion or accusation, but just to make sure he captured the kid's full expression. "And that you like him too much to be with him when he may only want you because you're the only person he's comfortable with."

To his surprise, instead of bulling up or looking guilty, the kid just blinked and smiled a bit. "He got all of that? I thought... he looked too mad at me to really be listening."

Herc snorted. "He's a contrary sod that way. Looks like he couldn't possibly hear a word you're saying, but he can damn near repeat it verbatim later when you try to deny it."

The pretty bastard chuckled and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. Jesus. The kid really did have it bad.

Which was comforting, in a way.

"Look, mate. I said I'm not here to shout you down, and I'm not. I get what you're saying about it being inappropriate, and normally, I'd agree. You're just trying to do what's right. I appreciate that." Sighing, he shifted on the ledge, earning a disapproving grunt from Max. "Just... you don't realize how close my kid guards his heart, yeah?"

But the kid shook his head. "I think I do. And that's the problem."

"Raleigh, he doesn't let just anybody in."

"I know. But that doesn't mean he should set his sights on the first person he _does_ let in."

Herc opened his mouth to protest, but Raleigh shook his head again.

"He needs to have more than one relationship, one support. It's not healthy to be dependent on one person to meet all his needs. It's not fair to either of us."

"He does, mate. He has me." He huffed and gestured. "And that's thanks to you."

"It's not the same." Another headshake. "And that's on him, not me. He did the work. I just made suggestions."

He rolled his eyes. "Which he would normally ignore and go on about his merry. He _listened,_ mate, and he only listened because it was you saying it."

"Because he trusts me."

"Exactly."

"Because I'm his goddamn caseworker, and it's my job to build trust with my clients."

"Right-- wait." Sighing, he slumped. "Walked me right into that one, didn't you."

"I wish I didn't have a point, but I do." Again, the poor kid shook his head. "Look, Mr. Hansen--"

"Just Herc."

A quick nod. "Herc. I do like your son. More than I should. And if I'd met him any other way, _I'd_ be standing on _your_ stoop, trying to get you to talk to him for me."

"Chuck doesn't know I'm here." It was Herc's turn to scratch the back of his head sheepishly. "In fact, he'd likely skin me alive if he knew. But he's afraid you got fired for being inappropriate with him, and he feels like shit about it, and he's worried about you and misses you like... I dunno. He just misses you. He felt safe with you, mate, and he doesn't want that with anyone else."

Raleigh's eyes had widened during the speech, and he huffed, looking a bit overwhelmed. "He thinks...?" Shaking his head again, he leaned back against the closed door and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I wasn't fired. I left because... dammit. Did Pentecost tell you I had a 4.9-out-of-5 rating? He loves telling people that, so I'm sure he said something."

He shrugged. Stacker had mentioned it, of course. It was one of the main draws for Herc agreeing to the cuddle therapy in the first place.

"You ever wonder why that's not a perfect rating? Because one of my earliest clients formed an unhealthy attachment and wanted to date me." The poor sod shook his head. "I wasn't interested, but I would've said no anyway. I explained that an attraction can easily form with this kind of therapy and suggested we switch caseworkers so he could see that his attraction wasn't... well, not 'not real', but not... it wasn't based on actual attraction. He only wanted to be with me because we'd built trust, and he'd never had that before. He... didn't take it well."

Herc sighed.

"He called the company and tried to accuse me of being inappropriate with him, but I'd already explained the situation to Pentecost and kept very good notes of our sessions. So the guy docked my rating, quit the program, and tried to sue. It didn't get very far, but...."

"But it left you gun-shy." Which was understandable. Dammit.

"I know Chuck wouldn't do that." The defense was swift and made Herc feel a hell of a lot better. "That wasn't what I-- but I don't think I'm a very good caseworker if I can't earn a client's trust without that client becoming infatuated and ruining all their progress when I have to leave because of it."

"Jesus, Raleigh. That's not...." Tired suddenly, even though it was only 9 AM, he ran a hand down his face and slumped. "Mate, you're a goddamn miracle worker. I'd just about given up hope of Chuck and I ever even being civil to each other, let alone actually talking about things. This therapy was literally my last hope, and you knocked it out of the goddamn park. Hell, the only reason I'm even here right now is because Chuck _talks_ to me. He _confided_ in me, mate. That's not something I thought would ever happen, yeah?"

The bloke quirked a small grin that looked almost painful. "I'm glad. For both of you. I know he needed that, whether he admits it or not. He wanted more than anything to make things right with you."

"He is. We are. I mean, we're working on it." Flustered, he again gestured vaguely. "But it's all because of you. It'd kill Chuck to think you quit a job you're amazing at because he couldn't help falling for you. It was bad enough when he thought you'd been fired because of it."

Now, the poor sod frowned. "Wait, how did he know I was even gone?"

"The scheduling bloke let it slip when Chuck rang to cancel his last two appointments."

The kid stood up straight, eyes wide again. "Wait, what? He cancelled his--" Groaning, he covered his eyes with one hand, rubbing at his temples as he did so. "Dammit, Chuck. I asked him to give the new therapist a chance. He needs to keep on with the therapy, dammit."

Herc shook his head. "Raleigh, he doesn't want anyone but you. Don't you get it?" He stood up and nudged Max off his boot, then went to stand closer. "He wanted to sort things with me, and he wanted to be close to you, and that's it. That's all he wanted from therapy. Maybe not at the start, but once he got comfortable with you, he didn't want anyone else."

Sighing heavily, the poor bloke let his head hang and shoved his hands in his pockets again.

"Raleigh?"

Two steps back, and the kid slumped back against the door again.

"You're not his therapist anymore, yeah?"

A huff. "His confidentiality doesn't end with his treatment or my employment. Neither does my investment in his case."

Frustrated -- dammit, the bloke really was trying to do what was right, and it was hard to argue with that -- Herc reached down and picked Max up. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he felt Chuck's chances slipping through his fingers and he wanted to hang onto whatever he could.

"Will you at least give it a chance?"

Those big, blue eyes met his finally, and the roil of emotion in them almost knocked Herc off his feet. No wonder Chuck had fallen so hard. Jesus, the kid was a knockout, even when he was upset and distressed and trying to do what was right at the expense of what he wanted. Or maybe _because_ of all that.

"I don't know if I can." Swallowing hard, he lowered those too-expressive eyes and put a hand on the doorknob. "I need to... get back to...."

It'd be cruel to keep pushing. Raleigh wasn't refusing because he wasn't interested. He was a good man who'd fallen for someone he didn't think he could have, and he was clearly hurting from it. So, Herc backed off and tried to give him an out.

"Job hunting?"

That got a ghost of a grin. "No. I'm going back to construction. Some old military friends still own the company I worked for in high school. They said they'd be happy to have me back whenever I'm ready." The ghost turned into a more substantial shadow. "I'll have to brush up on my Russian, though. It's been a while."

Since he had no idea what to say to that, he just nodded. "Glad you have a plan, mate. Chuck'll be relieved. And I really do wish you luck."

The bloke offered a hand, which Herc shook without hesitation. "Thank you, sir. Tell Chuck... just... he'll be fine. He'll know what I mean."

"I'll do it."

Since there was nothing else to say, he started away until Max started wrigging in his grip. Frowning, he tried to get a better but still careful hold on him when Raleigh reached out and stroked the little bugger's head and scritched behind the ears. The puppy gave a happy little groan and tried for a lick that the kid dodged with an actual grin.

"He's cute. Yours?"

He snorted. "In name only. When we're anywhere near Chuck, he forgets all about me."

That grin lit up the poor sod's whole face. "Is it adorable as hell? Because it sounds adorable as hell."

He felt a broad smile light up his own face, and he was at least as surprised as he was amused. The bloke really did have a gift for people.

"It really is, mate."

And this time, it was okay that there was nothing else to say.


	14. Chapter 14

Chuck tried not to eye the time. It didn't matter. It was just another Tuesday afternoon. Nothing special on the calendar. The red velvet cupcakes huddling on their racks as he piped on thick cream cheese frosting didn't mean anything.

Herc had rang him up and confided, of course. Chuck was fairly certain his old man just wanted to reassure him that the bloke hadn't been fired and he had a job to go to -- construction, of all things; the bloke was a goddamn therapeutic genius, and he wanted to work _construction_ \-- but he couldn't help but be curious about the rest of the conversation. Unfortunately, he guessed his father would have told him if there was any kind of hope for--

Grumbling under his breath, he piped another cupcake and tried to push it all out of his mind. It wouldn't do anyone any good for him to dwell. To wish like hell that he was making cupcakes for Raleigh to moan and sigh over whilst they cuddled on the couch and half-watched movies. Hell, he'd even settle for Herc showing up out of nowhere with Max.

When he realized he'd piled the frosting twice as high as the muffin had crowned, he sighed and put down the pastry bag. He'd just ruin them if he didn't quit thinking too hard.

Before he could pick up the emergency butter knife and swirl off the extra frosting to scoop back into the bag, his doorbell rang. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, he felt his internal systems all perk up. He didn't drool, but he did immediately think of Raleigh and feel a confusing roil of comfort and nervousness and dismay because it probably wasn't him.

Though he hadn't ordered anything.

And Herc only ever knocked.

_Don't freak out. Don't be weird. It's probably... just don't freak out._

Repeating the mantra over and over in his head, he put down the cupcake, wiped his hands on a dampened handtowel to make sure he wasn't sticky, then nipped around the counter to go to the door. His heart thundered in his chest as he touched the doorknob.

_It won't be him. Don't freak out on whoever it is._

He opened the door. It was Raleigh.

_Fuck. Abort. Freak the fuck out._

But he didn't. He just stared, mouth slightly open, at the apparition in his doorway. Raleigh looked... nervous. Hesitant. Unsure of himself. A little pale.

He also looked fucking gorgeous, and Chuck wanted to stick his face in the bloke's neck and breathe him in until his heart went back down into his chest where it belonged.

"Hey, Chuck."

He couldn't speak. He wanted to, but for once, his mouth remained resolutely blurt-free.

"Is this a bad time?"

His head shook, but his words remained useless.

"I, uh... I think we should talk."

_Use your goddamn words, ya wanker! He's gonna think you're pissed at him!_

"Are you here for a session?"

He stared, aghast at himself. _Jesus. Go back to being silent, dumbass._

But Raleigh quirked a tiny hint of a grin. "No."

Swallowing hard, he tried to focus. "Do you... wanna...?"

He gestured vaguely inside his flat, but Raleigh shook his head.

"Not just yet. We should talk first, if that's okay?"

At a loss, he shrugged. "I guess?"

The pretty bloke nodded, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Good. Thanks." He cleared his throat. "I've been thinking." That tiny grin again. "Pretty much all weekend, actually. I... I missed you."

His eyebrows went up. "You did?"

Because Raleigh had said he liked him, yes, but... he hadn't really thought about what that meant other than a kiss and a goodbye. The idea that the bloke might have been thinking about him as much as he'd been thinking about Raleigh....

Another nod. "So... when Herc showed up out of nowhere and asked me to give you a chance because all you wanted out of your therapy was to fix your relationship with him and... and get close to me...." He swallowed hard and shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I just... I really missed you."

_Don't get your hopes up. Don't...._

But it was too late. It felt like something was about to bubble up out of him, and he had no idea what would happen if he let it. He just felt like, for the first time, he might actually have a chance.

"Are you... Raleigh, are we...?"

He wanted to reach out and grab the gorgeous bastard by the jumper and reel him in for a kiss he was actually ready for, but something told him to wait. Soon, maybe, but not yet.

Those impossible blue eyes lowered, and the poor sod shifted again. "I... want to, yeah, but... we have to agree on a few things first." The bloke looked him right in the eye, suddenly serious as a heart attack. "The most important thing is that I want you to finish out your sessions."

He huffed. "Are you taking the piss? Hell yes, I'll finish my sessions. We'll get one out of the way right--"

"Not with me."

Blinking, he felt himself starting to frown and was helpless to stop it.

"I can't be your caseworker and date you, Chuck. It'd be unethical." Those eyes were still so damn serious. "And I meant what I said: you need to be able to get close to more than just me. To be able to socialize enough for the occasional casual contact. And no, your father doesn't count."

Again at a loss, he blinked. "So... you _are_ sort of being my therapist?"

Oh, Jesus, not with that little smile right now. "No. I just... I care about you, Chuck. And I meant it when I said I want you to be happy. I don't want you to finish your sessions for me. I want you to finish them for you. They won't do you any good otherwise. But I do think it's important that you try." He shrugged. "That's all I'm asking."

Could he do it? Would he? He sure as hell didn't want to. He couldn't picture himself cuddling anyone else on the couch whilst _Jaws_ or _Star Trek_ or _Hot Shots_ played in the background. He didn't think he'd ever feel as safe with anyone else as he did with Raleigh.

But... Raleigh thought it was important. And he trusted the bloke's advice. It'd worked out damn well for him up to now.

So, he swallowed. "Okay. I'll try. Should I call and reschedule? And I don't want Dad paying now that he got his money back--"

"I already paid for them."

He stared, not sure he'd heard right.

"I wanted to do something for you." Shift, shift. "To make up for the look on your face when you said I'd made you need me just when I had to leave. Because you weren't wrong, and I'm sorry."

Jesus. This fucking guy.

Sighing, he shook his head. "You are such an asshole. I can't even argue with you, dammit. Now, are you coming in or not?"

But the silly sod just shifted his weight again. "Uh... not quite yet. There's one more thing, and it's for both of us, not just you."

His eyes narrowed. "What's that, then?"

To his surprise, the bloke blushed, the color crawling up his neck and into his cheeks. It was goddamn adorable, and he had never wanted to kiss someone more than he did right now.

"I think we should take the, uh, physical aspect slow."

Chuck got a instant's glimpse of blue, and then it was all red as the bloke lowered his head and shifted some more.

"Just... you probably need to ease into all the contact, and I'll tell you right now, I need a lot of touching and kissing, and I have to cuddle afterward. That's non-negotiable. So we should take it slow and not rush into anything that would make you uncomfortable and end up with both of us in a mess."

This. Fucking. Guy.

Mouth twitching, Chuck tried not to sound on the verge of laughter, which he absolutely was. "Is that all?"

The blonde head nodded, those fuck-all lashes still hiding that mind-blowing blue.

"Right. Then I got one for you."

The bloke raised his head in a hurry, and Chuck crossed his arms and tried to look severe. It was surprisingly difficult.

"Unless you just really want to go back to construction, I want you to think about doing your residency and becoming a full-on therapist."

Raleigh blinked.

"I'm not taking the piss, mate. You're fucking amazing at it, and I feel like it's what you were meant to do, yeah?"

And there was that smile. The slow one that warmed the bloke's whole face like a goddamn sunrise. The one that left Chuck feeling weak in the knees and in desperate need of a cuddle. And a kiss, if he was honest.

"I do like the construction, ya know. Keeps me in shape."

He rolled his eyes, already reaching out to grab the ratbag by the jumper. The midnight blue yarn was just as soft as the mossy green had been.

"But I do kinda like helping people, too."

Reeling the bloke in, Chuck shook his head. "Will you just get in here already?"

The rotten sod let himself be pulled close, but he didn't lean in when Chuck did. He just smiled. "Can't."

Chuck blinked, confused. "Oi, why not?"

Chest to chest, the wanker kept his hands in his pockets, though he didn't try to pull away or indicate that he was uncomfortable in any way. He just smiled that smug-ass smile.

"Because you have a session in ten minutes."

Backing a step, he eyed the bloke suspiciously. "Nuh-uh."

The smug smile widened. "Yeah-huh. Mako is never late."

He grunted, frowning with a fistful of jumper still in hand. "C'mon, mate. Not tonight. Jesus, I just went from thinking I'd never see you again to... I dunno... dating? Is that what we are?"

The smug sod leaned close, still not kissing him but at least moving in the right direction. "Yes tonight. And, if you're still in a good headspace afterward, I hear good things about the Italian place around the corner."

His mouth twitched on a grin that he desperately wanted to quash. "So dating, then. You coulda just said, ya ratbag."

Chuckling -- and God, he'd never get tired of that rumble from Raleigh's chest to his own -- the silly bastard finally, finally leaned in for a small kiss. It was damn near chaste, but it still lit Chuck up all the way to his toes. Jesus. He hoped he never got used to how it felt to be close to this gorgeous piece of work.

Unfortunately, the rotten sod resisted his tugging, even when he put an arm around his waist and tried to coax him in without pulling his jumper all out of shape. He whined a bit, trying to kiss the stubborn bloke's mouth open a bit further, but Raleigh just hmmed and shook his head, breaking the kiss and refusing to even take his hands out of his pockets.

"Not until after dinner."

He couldn't help it. He pouted.

Blue eyes lit up even as the wanker backed away. "It's no use being adorable. Mako will give me all the shit in the world if we're making out in the doorway when she shows up. And we're taking it slow, remember?"

Still pouting, he crossed his arms. Mostly to resist the urge to throw himself on the pretty ratbag and do his best impression of an octopus.

"I hope you remember that resolve when I'm dying of blue balls."

The bloke looked him over from ginger hair to socked feet and... oh, Jesus. Bit his lower lip. Which would be the only thing on Chuck's mind all goddamn night.

"Dinner first." The bastard started to back away, then blinked away the blatant interest and looked ridiculously, adorably sheepish. "Actually, my number first. If you still want it?"

His eyes widened, and he hurriedly patted his pockets and chest, coming up empty. "Jesus, where's my goddamn mobile?"

Raleigh chuckled as Chuck ran across the room, searching the counter island for his phone, finally finding it amongst the frosted cupcakes and grabbing one on a whim. Much to his pride, the bloke practically started drooling as soon as food came into the mix.

Smirking, he held the treat just out of reach. "Number first."

Those pretty eyes narrowed. "You do realize that if you keep feeding me like this, I'm gonna weigh three hundred pounds and not be able to roll off your couch."

His smirk brightened. "That's all it'd take to keep you on my couch? Shoulda told me sooner, mate."

The blush came back and didn't leave the whole time they traded numbers and Raleigh tried to eat his cupcake without getting cream cheese frosting on his phone. Normally, Chuck would've been enthralled by all the finger-licking, but he was too busy staring at the new entry to his contacts, smiling like a jackass at the reality of it. Of what it meant. He didn't even care if Raleigh caught him at it. He was too damn... oh.

_Oh._

He blinked, then just stared at the bloke for a long moment. Soon enough, Raleigh looked up, then stilled, caught by whatever he saw on Chuck's face.

The smile slowly came back, answered by the one spreading over Raleigh's face, too.

Chuck was happy. Right now, he didn't even care if he deserved it or not. And Raleigh saw it and approved.

Which was, of course, when someone walked up the hallway and interrupted the moment.

"Raleigh? I assume this is Chuck."

Shaking off his delirious realization that, holy shit, he actually had the capacity for joy, Chuck jerked his attention to the small Asian woman looking from him to Raleigh and back again with an inscrutible expression.

"Mako, right?"

She nodded, a hint of a smile in her eyes. "Am I interrupting?"

Raleigh blushed and cleared his throat, jamming his hands back into his pockets. "No, no. I was just... ahem." The adorable sod shot Chuck a glance. "Call me when you're done? We'll... see how it goes."

He nodded, taking one last, good, long look at the pretty bloke he was somehow miraculously dating. "I will."

The bloke headed off down the hall, pausing only to nudge the woman, Mako, with his elbow on the way by. When he disappeared, she raised an eyebrow and looked at Chuck expectantly.

"May I come in?"

Without a second thought, he let her in.


	15. Chapter 15

Chuck had never been on a date before. He didn't know what to wear. Raleigh looked fucking amazing in anything, but other than not wanting to wear anything with holes or stains, Chuck had never given a shit how he looked. He valued function far more than aesthetic.

Unfortunately, that left him with a sea of casual clothing in a distressingly monochromatic spectrum of grey. Dark grey trackies and trousers. Lighter grey t-shirts and hoodies. One long-sleeved tee was actually two separate shades of grey at the same time. Jesus.

But he was supposed to be at the restaurant in half an hour, and he finally admitted that he needed an assist.

"Oi, Chuck. Your goddamn dog just took a runny shit on the floor."

He blinked, neatly thrown out of his fluster and into a smirk. "Oh, so he's _my_ dog when he has the runny shits in the house, but he's _your_ dog when he wants to go outside?"

"Yeah, because the little wanker did it on purpose, didn't he?"

He snorted. "Sounds like you have your own crisis to deal with, then."

His old man's voice sharpened. "Are you all right? What's wrong? What happened?"

Grinning, he sat on the corner of his bed and tried to remember when that kind of instant concern would have pissed him off. It had been a while.

"Oi, nothing bad. Climb down, yeah?" He eyed the sea of grey that was his wardrobe and remembered why he rang in the first place. "Just... I had a session with my new caseworker a bit ago, and--"

"Chuck, that's--"

"--and I'm trying to get ready for a date with Raleigh and I don't--"

"Chuck!"

"--have anything to wear. So I'm phoning in a request."

There was a heavy thud on the other end of the line, and Chuck smirked when he realized his old man had just plopped down on whatever was handy. Maybe even just the floor.

Hopefully, the silly sod had missed the runny shit.

"You're carrying on with the therapy?"

"I am." He shrugged, even though his old man wouldn't see it. "The last two sessions, anyway. Raleigh's idea." And his treat, but he didn't say that part. "The new caseworker is... she's different. That's for sure. I dunno how I feel about her yet."

"But you're giving her a chance?"

He considered the staring match the first ten minutes of his so-called therapy had been and grinned sheepishly. "I'm trying. We didn't get 'round to any cuddling yet, but we'll see next week."

They had, however, managed to sit side by side about a foot apart on the couch and traded basic information. It was... weird. He didn't particularly like it. But Raleigh trusted her, and he trusted Raleigh, so... he'd suck it up. It was only one more session. And it really wasn't such an ordeal to just sit beside someone.

Even someone who, he suspected, saw his every thought and discomfort in her presence and catalogued it mentally behind a pair of large, dark, wickedly observant eyes. Mako Mori actually rather intimidated him in a way Raleigh never had.

But not necessarily a bad way. He just... was pretty sure she was psychic. And maybe judging him a little. Though he probably deserved it.

All of which was besides the point because Herc was talking and Chuck was fairly certain he'd missed at least half of it.

"--just can't... that bloke is a goddamn miracle worker. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. And... Jesus, hold the... did you say you're getting ready for a date with him?"

"Caught that, did you?"

"Chuck!"

He chuckled, feeling... weird. But a good weird. A _happy_ weird, which wasn't something he'd really felt before.

"We're taking it slow. Starting with dinner tonight at that Italian place. But I've never been on a date before, and I don't have anything but slouchy grey shite, and I feel like I ought to put in the effort, yeah? But I don't have time to buy anything new."

Silence.

"Dad?"

Still nothing.

Worried, he stood up. "Oi, Dad? Don't fuck about. You all right?"

"I'm good. I'm... I'm fine." But the poor sod sounded rough, and Chuck wondered if his old man was all choked up and trying not to sound it. "Just... I'm glad for you, son."

And though he felt ridiculously mushy himself, he really did have other concerns. "Me, too, but I really do have a problem here, old man, so do you have any suggestions or not?"

"Right, right." Herc cleared his throat. "Do you have anything that buttons down?"

Frowning, he went to his rarely-used closet and poked about in the various old hoodies and the several old pairs of trousers he'd hung up and promptly forgotten about. Toward the back was a long-sleeved button-down shirt in charcoal chambray. He glared at it for a moment, trying to remember why he even had it. A funeral, maybe?

"Just found a long-sleeved shirt, yeah. Buttons down and everything." He took it out of the closet and held it at arm's length, eyeing it in the good overhead light. "I think it might do?"

"You got a pair of good jeans?"

Denim, he definitely had. Some pairs were even blue, though even in his trousers, he far preferred neutral greys.

"Yeah."

"Right. Button up the shirt, leave it untucked, roll up the sleeves, and you'll do. He's not taking you to a black tie place, yeah?"

Relieved, he tossed the shirt on the bed and went to his drawers to dig for the right pair of trousers. "Thanks, Dad. Wasn't sure... just... thanks."

"Welcome." Dammit, the silly sod sounded all choked up again. "And good luck, son. I'm proud of you, yeah?"

The last thing he wanted was to get all misty-eyed over the phone whilst trying to get ready for his first date ever, so he forced a grin and hoped it showed in his voice. "Thanks. And good luck with that runny shit, yeah?"

"Jesus, kid."

But he heard the relieved amusement in his old man's voice and rang off with a clear conscience. A few minutes later, he critically eyed what he could see of himself in his bathroom mirror. It wasn't much -- just his head, shoulders, and chest, but he thought he looked all right. The shirt was a bit tight, but in a good way across his shoulders and biceps, not around the middle. And the underside of the material was almost white, so the rolled sleeves really stood out and showed off all his hard work on the machines in his guest room.

And though he'd never managed a full-length look at himself, one of his old hook-ups had assured him that this particular pair of trousers made his thighs look like a porn star's and his ass look like a banquet. He sincerely hoped it was praise because it was time to go.

On his first date.

Which happened to be with Raleigh-- fuck. How the hell did he still not know the bloke's last name? Would it be weird to ask? He should probably already know, for Christ's sake. He knew Mako's last name, and he'd only met her today.

He'd worry about it later. Right now, he needed to hustle.

Luckily, he'd allowed himself enough of a cushion that he didn't have to run to make it around the corner, and he grinned when he saw Raleigh strolling up the sidewalk from the other direction, hands in his pockets, a soft smile on his face as he looked at the bookstore across the street. Since the bloke was distracted, Chuck allowed himself a moment to just... take him in.

Tall. Gorgeous legs. Narrow hips and a broad chest. Those fucking shoulders that seemed strong enough to carry the world. That perfect jawline. Those goddamn beautiful features.

Jesus. The blue of those eyes as they glanced around and met Chuck's and widened. That slow, pleased smile that lit the pretty sod up like the dawn.

"Hello, handsome." The bloke's head tilted a bit. "You look... different. Good, but different."

Fighting down a blush, he shrugged and ran a hand down the row of buttons. "What, this old thing?"

Yeah. He was a regular comedian.

But it worked. Raleigh chuckled and strolled closer, hands still in his pockets. "Don't tell me you went out and bought a new shirt."

"I didn't!" Smirking, he crossed his arms and thrilled a bit as the bloke's eyes went to the stretch of the fabric over his shoulders and upper arms. "I don't even remember when I got this shirt, I've had it so long."

Jesus, that blue was even more devastating when the bloke very much liked what he saw. "It suits you."

Thus, Chuck was a bit short of breath when he leaned in just enough to count as an invitation, if Raleigh wanted. "I'll remember that."

Oh, thank God, but Raleigh apparently wanted.

As before, it was a borderline chaste kiss, and as before, Chuck felt it all the way through him. It was even better when the pretty bloke fished a hand from his pocket and lightly touched Chuck's upper arm. Another point of contact, another small intimacy. This was what the brilliant bastard had been talking about all those sessions ago. This was one of the many levels of touch between fucking and making love, though it wasn't even a bit indecent.

Hell, Chuck hadn't even uncrossed his arms, though he did so in a hurry when Raleigh started to pull away. He didn't grab onto him or anything. Just... a hand at his waist. A silent indication that he wasn't quite ready to be done yet.

He was getting used to closeness. To little intimacies.

He rather liked them.

And Raleigh obliged, smiling into a bit less innocent kiss. Fuck, he could almost taste the bloke's mouth, and he stepped closer still until they stood together. Not quite pressed together, but... touching. Close.

"We're gonna get kicked out before we even go in."

But the pretty sod didn't move away and went right back to kissing him, so Chuck didn't protest. It wouldn't bother him in the slightest to turn around and go right back to his apartment, shove the bloke down on the couch, and crawl right over him for the rest of the night.

Although he'd miss his first date if they did that.

And he'd gotten all dressed up in his one good shirt.

Sighing, he pulled away just enough to lean their foreheads together, another intimacy he hadn't even suspected he would want but that felt pretty damn good.

"I've never been on a date before, mate, and if we keep this up, I never will, yeah?"

Raleigh blinked those fuck-all lashes, his eyes hazy and deep, and pulled back just enough to get a good look at him. "I thought you were exaggerating when you said that before. I probably should have guessed, huh?"

He grinned. "That we won't step foot in that restaurant if we kiss long enough for one of us to risk a little tongue? Yeah. You really should have."

Snorting, the silly sod backed a step and shook his head. "There's that winning personality of yours."

But those baby blues were still warm and fond, so Chuck just waggled his eyebrows and smirked. "Worked on you, didn't it?"

The warm hand still on his upper arm slid down a bit and rested at his wrist, and the bloke lifted one eyebrow in question. It took Chuck a second to catch on, at which point he blushed a bit and nodded. And let his fingers thread with Raleigh's as the bloke obligingly took his hand.

"I guess it did."

So, following the gentle tug on his hand, Chuck walked into the restaurant with Raleigh for his first date ever.


	16. Chapter 16

Dates were funny things, Chuck thought later. Or maybe just first dates. Or maybe only when someone was twenty-one years old and had never been on one.

On one hand, it was almost like one of their sessions, except out in public and Chuck made Raleigh do most of the talking, since the pretty sod already knew pretty much everything there was to know about Chuck Hansen. Someone else brought the food, which was nice, and kept their beer glasses topped. There were a shocking lot of other people, too, especially for a Tuesday night, though Raleigh didn't seem surprised or bothered.

And there was a lot more playing footsie under the table, which Chuck didn't object to in the slightest. Sitting across from each other instead of next to each other had its perks.

On the other hand, it wasn't like their sessions at all, because he wouldn't have to pay Raleigh to stick around for another hour when the first one was up. Wouldn't have to wait until Friday to talk to him again. Could ring him up any time he wanted, though he'd try not to drive the bloke bugshit by ringing him up too often until they had a feel for how much chitchat they really wanted. And the silly sod actually answered questions about himself now instead of deflecting them back to Chuck.

His last name was Becket. Fucking _finally._

But perhaps most importantly, though he never once felt like Raleigh wasn't actively invested in the conversation or wasn't paying attention, Chuck was so relieved that he no longer felt like the bloke was weighing and charting every little move or expression to analyze later. If he fiddled with his salad fork, he didn't have to wonder if Raleigh would see it and attach some deeper meaning to the gesture.

He just felt comfortable. A little nervous that he might say or do something to embarrass Raleigh in public, but not like an amoeba under a microscope.

It was liberating as fuck.

And when he, of his own volition, took Raleigh's hand as they left the restaurant and strolled down the sidewalk, it felt like a two-fold win for him. One, he actually wanted to touch the bloke, wanted to be touched in return, to keep a physical connection between them. Two, it was _Raleigh_ and it was still okay. Was encouraged, in fact.

Okay, maybe a three-fold win, because it also just felt damn good. He used to sneer at people holding hands in public, but he understood rather better now. It was contact, connection. A small intimacy.

It was everything he'd been missing and was furious about without even knowing why.

So, as he unlocked the door of his flat and led the bloke inside, he made a decision. He'd been holding one major piece of himself back this whole time without really being aware of it. Oh, he'd done so consciously at first, but then he'd just... continued to do so. Even after he started feeling so close.

Raleigh raised his eyebrows when he started for the couch and Chuck tugged his hand to stop him.

"I... in a minute, mate. I need to show you something first." Blushing a bit, he shrugged nervously. "Won't take but a moment."

The pretty sod shrugged agreeably and followed the gentle tug toward the hall. A large part of Chuck wanted to make a joke or say something snarky to diffuse some of the nerves... the actual _anxiety_ crawling up his spine, but he didn't. It would've just been bluster to make it seem less important, and he didn't want to do that.

It _was_ important.

So, taking a deep breath, he opened his bedroom door and flicked on the light.

Raleigh looked around with interest, and though his heart was pounding furiously in his throat, Chuck tried to see what someone else would see of him here. It was tidy, at least. He wasn't one to leave clothes and such lying about willy-nilly. Lots of bookshelves stuffed with both textbooks and regular novels. Various robot figurines, betraying the interest that had led to his majoring in robotics engineering. An old _Blade Runner_ movie poster tacked to the wall above his desk, which was stacked high with textbooks and homework from the current semester. A schematic of the Iron Giant he'd found online, blown up, and taken to a printing service to print off almost as large as the movie poster.

Jesus. Why hadn't he realized he was a fucking nerd? Raleigh was gonna think--

"Holy shit. Do you have _Blade Runner?_ Can we watch it? It may be my favorite movie, though I'd have to think about it to say for sure."

He didn't realize how much he'd tensed up until it all fell out of him in a disorienting rush. Raleigh _had_ to have felt the vice grip Chuck had on his hand, but the bloke didn't protest or draw attention to it.

Feeling a bit weak in the knees, he tried to act like himself until he got his shit together. "Nice, Ray. I bring you to my room where literally no one else has ever been, and you pop a nerd boner for Harrison Ford. Or is it Rutger Hauer you wanna fangasm over?"

He... may have overshot the mark a bit. Luckily, Raleigh was probably the best bloke in the world and didn't take offense but just looked at him, all earnest and wide-eyed.

"No one else?"

Fidgeting now, he twisted his fingers free of the suddenly too-much grasp and crossed his arms. He didn't need to protect himself or back off, and he knew that, but he couldn't help it.

"Not even Dad." Swallowing hard, he looked away. "Remember when you first showed up and asked where in my flat I felt most comfortable?" He caught the bloke's nod out of the corner of his eye. "This is it. This is... it's _me,_ mate. And I've never let anyone in."

He wanted a cuddle. Fuck that. He _needed_ a cuddle, but he couldn't fucking move. This was supposed to be his goddamn Fortress of Solitude, and he felt like an exposed nerve. Why hadn't he just walked them over to the couch, shoved the bloke down on it, and jumped him like a goddamn rabbit?

A warm, steady hand touched his upper arm, and he reluctantly looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been glaring at. Raleigh stood at his side, sympathy and understanding all over that goddamn perfect face, and it wasn't even a struggle.

Closing his eyes, he turned toward the solid, intuitive bastard and buried his face in the comfortable hollow of his throat. He didn't uncross his arms, but Raleigh hugged him anyway, all warm hands and broad chest and that light cologne/fabric softener/Raleigh scent that dropped his blood pressure by ten points every goddamn time.

"Thank you, Chuck."

Unwinding some, he huffed and turned his face in a bit. "For what? You're the one who always knows when I need a cuddle."

Strong arms tightened around him, and Raleigh brushed his lips against his temple. Almost a kiss, but softer. "For letting me."

_For letting me touch you. For letting me in._

The pretty sod didn't have to say it out loud. For once, Chuck just... knew.

Finally, he was able to uncross his arms and lean fully against the bloke, resting his hands on the small of Raleigh's back. It'd be so easy to slide his hands down over that tempting ass, to shift the mood, but he didn't. It wouldn't be right. Not yet.

But soon, maybe.

So, grinning a bit against the bloke's warm skin, he hmmed softly. "Still got those red velvet cupcakes out there."

God, he loved that chuckle thrumming against him.

"Why do you think I didn't get dessert?" The big hands on his back squeezed gently. "Movie?"

He nodded, though he didn't pull away just yet. "Movie."

And the rotten sod better not tease him for puddling up at the Tears in Rain speech, dammit.


	17. Chapter 17

Some time later, they lay on the couch together, watching Roy Batty try to make a mark that would live beyond the cheap, short span forced upon him and occasionally murmuring commentary if the mood struck them. Raleigh lay full-out along the couch, a cushion propping up his head, and Chuck sprawled over him, head on his chest, arms around him. Sometimes, Raleigh ran light fingers through his hair. Sometimes not.

It was nothing like the therapy. This wasn't platonic cuddling. They weren't making out --in fact, neither of them had removed more than their shoes before piling up -- but it felt infinitely different from how Chuck had huddled against Raleigh's chest before. That was about... protection, maybe. About feeling safe and comforted.

This was about both of them feeling good, feeling _close._ It was affection and attraction and possibility. Chuck wasn't really sure he had the words to differentiate. He just... knew. It was different.

He was pretty sure he could get used to it.

Yes, he knew Raleigh would have to leave in a bit. Not because their time was up but just because it wouldn't be a good idea for him to stay yet. Chuck wouldn't mind if he did, but he knew better than to ask. Besides, the bloke probably had work in the morning.

Or did he?

"Oi, forgot to ask: do you work in the morning? Am I keeping you out late?"

He loved the feel of those big, warm hands stroking up his back.

"No. I, uh... spoke to Aleksis after we talked earlier and told him I didn't think I'd be coming back on the crew after all."

Blinking, he frowned a bit. "So you've not got a job, then? Shit, mate, I didn't mean for you to--"

"I'm going back to Shatterdome Associates."

He leaned up enough to grin down at the silly sod. "Yeah?"

He loved that slow smile. He could see it every day for the rest of his life. Maybe that was something to strive for -- making the gorgeous bloke smile like that at least once a day. It was a selfish goal, but he could probably pass it off as altruistic, so there was really no downside.

"I called Tendo on the way out just after we talked." The smile quirked a bit until it was more of a smirk. "Turns out, he 'accidentally' forgot to file my separation paperwork, and then he 'accidentally' dropped it in the shredder, so I am officially on vacation for two weeks while Pentecost coordinates with the university to put my request for residency in motion."

Beaming, he scooted to sit astride the bloke's narrow waist. "You actually listened to me?"

Okay, he loved the feel of those big hands on his thighs maybe more than on his back. He fucking _loved_ small intimacies. How the hell had he lived so long without them?

"Of course I did." But the happy smirk faded a bit. "I didn't want to leave in the first place. I just... thought I should. Pentecost tried to tell me I hadn't done anything requiring even a reprimand, that I'd reported it before it got out of hand and took the right steps to remove myself from your treatment, but... I felt... wrong." Jesus, those eyes. They could drown the whole world. "I never wanted to take advantage of you, Chuck."

"Oi, don't." Not really sure how to reach out, he hesitantly laid his hands on Raleigh's. "You helped me, mate. That's not taking advantage."

The poor sod forced a grin. "I just sort of wish we'd met any other way than through therapy."

But at that, Chuck snorted and poked the silly bastard in the stomach. Jesus. It was like poking a brick wall.

He rather wanted to do it again but didn't quite dare. Yet.

"Trust me. You wouldn't have wanted anything to do with me outside of therapy." He smirked. "I'm a bit cheeky, if you'll remember."

But at that, the rotten sod smirked full-on and captured both of Chuck's hands, threading their fingers together. "Are you kidding? You had me at 'Jesus, did you buy me a hooker?'."

He blushed furiously and tugged at his hands so he could thwap the bastard, but Raleigh held on, snickering at him.

"Fuck you, Ray." He grunted. "And that's the worst Australian accent I've ever heard."

"Blame the potter, not the clay."

"Oi!"

"Case in point."

Blustering more for the show of it than because he was actually irritated, he allowed the silly wanker to tug him down until he lay over him again. "If we missed Tears in Rain because you're a wanker, I _will_ shove you off my couch."

Thankfully, Pris was still alive, so they hadn't missed it yet, and they settled together easily enough. Chuck held out as long as he could before scooting up enough to tuck his cheek against Raleigh's throat. He could feel the slow, steady beat of the big vein against his face, and he realized suddenly how much trust the bloke showed him. Had always shown him.

Because Chuck could have ruined the poor fool's life if he'd complained to the company about Raleigh's behavior. It may or may not have stood up in court -- it sounded like his boss would've backed him, anyway -- but it would definitely have tarnished his record. But the bloke had taken Chuck's face into those gentle hands and kissed him anyway. And he'd been willing to walk away from a career that was damn near tailor-made for him because he thought he'd treated Chuck badly.

And now, the silly sod lay at peace with Chuck's mouth -- his _teeth_ \-- a breath away from his most vulnerable blood supply. Of course, it wasn't likely that anyone sane would gnaw some random bloke's throat out, but the implication was there. He sure as hell wouldn't feel either safe or comfortable if someone shoved their face against his neck like this.

But Raleigh trusted Chuck to not hurt him. Felt safe with Chuck's likely heavier body sprawled over his own. Had agreed to try a relationship even knowing that, if it broke badly, it could be very ugly for him, indeed.

Feeling... Jesus, he didn't even know what he felt, other than that it was huge and warm and made him feel like a goddamn superhero, he smiled a bit and kissed the skin over that vulnerable vein. Just a brush of lips. Nothing fancy.

Just enough to tighten that big body under his.

Another brush of lips, and he sighed against that satiny skin as Raleigh's hands tightened on his back. He tilted his head and kissed just under the jaw with a hint more pressure. The pretty bloke's words from earlier came back to him -- that Raleigh needed lots of kissing and touching where sex was concerned -- and he shifted to stroke a hand up the side of the ridiculously soft jumper to rest on the bloke's ribs whilst he snuck another tiny kiss further up the jawline below the ear.

His reward was a shiver and a soft vocalization as Raleigh tightened his arms around him. Another light kiss in the same soft hollow earned a similar reaction, and Chuck grinned. He was definitely starting to like this touchy-feely shite.

"Chuck...."

Because he really was a cheeky little shite, he kept his mouth right where it was as he whispered, his lips brushing that sensitive spot with every movement.

"You said nothing I'm not comfortable with, yeah?"

His hand stroked back down the bloke's side, then slipped up under the jumper to splay over... Jesus, those abs, that skin, the cut lines of muscle, the _flex...._ Sighing and earning a sharp inhale for it, he moaned softly.

"Well, I'm comfortable as fuck right now, love."

It was okay to say "love" at this point, right? Raleigh shifted restlessly, but he didn't seem inclined to actually pull away, so it was probably all right.

He stroked his thumb around the pretty sod's belly button and flicked his tongue at sensitive little hollow on his neck. "Just... I'm not used to much of this, so tell me if I do something you don't like, yeah?"

The poor bloke let out a quiet little whine. "Thought that was my line."

He chuckled softly, and Raleigh shivered again, both hands lowering to slide back up under Chuck's shirt, warm fingers on bare skin. Unfortunately, the poor sod only got about halfway up before the tight fit stalled him.

"Chuck...?"

Fuck yes, he wanted out of his shirt. They should probably keep their trousers on lest they both get carried away, but all shirts had to go. Even if he had to pull away from that handy little spot he'd found to do it.

Groaning softly, he shifted to straddle that cut waist again and sit up, wondering why he'd worn a shirt with so goddamn many buttons. When Raleigh tugged up the hem of his jumper, then paused with raised eyebrows in obvious question, Chuck nodded vigorously, one step shy of cursing at his clothing.

Oh, sweet Jesus, what a glorious torso was revealed when the jumper went away. The gorgeous bastard looked like a wet dream, all carved muscle and smooth sk--

Oh. That skin was a bit worse for wear, and though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help but stare, his own shirt unbuttoned but still on. He wanted to touch, wanted to trace the lines of scars, but he wasn't sure if Raleigh would let him, would want him to.

"It's okay. They don't hurt."

Damn. The poor bloke looked carefully blank-faced, like he wasn't worried about Chuck's reaction, but that very lack of expression told Chuck exactly how wary he was.

They were weirdly geometric in shape, straight lines and angles instead of something that looked like an accident. With a glance up to double check that it was okay, he reached out and touched as lightly as he could, tracing his fingers along the darkest, deepest line over the left pectoral.

"From the thing?" He glanced up again, pretty sure his heart was in his eyes and not bothering to hide it. "The one that... that almost killed you and your brother?"

The blank mask cracked enough for the slightest hint of a crooked grin. "You remember that?"

"One of the only things you told me about yourself whilst I spilled my guts for damn near two months? Yeah, I remember. Jesus, mate."

Because those scars meant he might never have met the bloke. And what if he hadn't? He sure as hell wouldn't be here right now, tracing his fingers over the wounded heart of a man he was more than half-way in love with, comfortable with straddling him even knowing they wouldn't be having sex tonight. He wouldn't have called his old man for help on what to wear to his first date.

And Raleigh wouldn't have become a miracle worker who helped people like him, people who had no way of getting to where Chuck was right now. And that would have been a goddamn tragedy.

How many people had the bloke taught to appreciate small intimacies? How many felt like they'd rejoined the human race because of him? How many felt like he'd saved them from their isolation?

"There was a chemical fire. We couldn't put it out." Raleigh's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "My armor started to melt into my skin. That's why they look like that."

He nodded, though he wanted to shake his head. "And your brother?"

"Yancy?"

His fingers never stopped tracing those weirdly straight lines, but he nodded again. The scar tissue felt just different enough from the skin to tingle his fingertips.

"More damage. More scars." The muscle under his fingers flexed restlessly. "But he's alive. He lost some muscle volume, but they saved his limbs. And we saved a ten-man crew that would've burned alive, so he calls it a win."

But the bloke still felt guilty about it. And this definitely wasn't the time to remind him of that.

Besides, the pretty sod needed kisses and touching. He said so himself.

Chuck leaned down, his hands braced to either side of the broad shoulders, and pressed a small kiss to the deepest line. Traced the length of it and around the angle with his lips. Kissed again when he felt the different texture end.

Raleigh made a soft noise, that big body flexing. But he didn't protest.

So Chuck moved to the next line over, nestled inside the larger one, and did the same thing. And the lines over the ribs. Over the shoulder. Down the biceps. Then, he leaned up enough to look the beautiful bloke in the eyes, that ridiculous blue swamping him all over again.

Cupping the bloke's jaw with one hand, he stroked his thumb over the soft cheek. Then, because he didn't want to wait any longer, he leaned down for a kiss.

This one wasn't chaste. It wasn't raunchy, either, but Raleigh opened to him immediately, his hands coming up to stroke away the shirt Chuck had completely forgotten about. Once it was out of the way, those hands touched every inch of bared skin. From the nape of Chuck's neck to the dimples just above his ass to the ticklish spot on the ribs just under his armpit to the trail of hair leading down under his waistband. Raleigh traced his fingers over everything, and it felt....

Jesus, what the fuck had sex been before now? He felt lightheaded with all the sensation, his senses flooded with Raleigh. His taste, his scent, the contrast of taut, flexing muscle under silken skin. And those fucking _sounds,_ the ones the bastard made when eating Chuck's baking....

His cock was already hard enough to drive nails, and his skin felt like it was alive. Ready to tear itself away or burst into pure electricity. It was... too much.

Too much. It was an overload, and he couldn't... his mind couldn't... fuck... _fuck...._

He didn't jerk away, thank God, but he did reach between them and grab the bloke's hands and press them together between his own, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead against Raleigh's. Breathing hard, his heart pounding hard enough to almost hurt, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get a grip on himself.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get carried aw--"

"'S all right, love." And it was. Or it would be. He just.... "Not used to... all of it at once, yeah?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

He shook his head, his eyes still tightly shut. "Don't. I'm fine." He grinned crookedly. "Not sure if I'm about to come in my trousers or explode out of my skin, but fine. Does it always feel like that?"

The body below him shifted, but Raleigh didn't try to pull his hands free or touch him in any way. Chuck wasn't sure if he was grateful or disappointed. What if he'd fucked it all up?

"How did it feel?"

He squinted one eye open, but he was too close to see anything, so he leaned up enough to focus on the bloke's careful expression.

"You're not my therapist, mate."

"No." A hint of a grin lightened the blue of those killer eyes. "But I _am_ your boyfriend, and if you don't like the way I touch you, I need to know."

 _Boyfriend._ The word sent a pulse of something through him. It was probably stupid, but he didn't care. It was proof that he wasn't ruining anything by pulling back when it was too much. That Raleigh would wait for him to be ready.

So, blushing, he released his grip and scooted down -- trying to ignore his hard-on whilst he did so -- and laid over the bloke again, hiding his face against the scars on Raleigh's chest. "I liked it, yeah? Just... wasn't expecting it to be... so much."

"Mm."

They lay quiet long enough that Chuck realized the credits were rolling and they'd missed the whole last act of the movie. He could start it again, he supposed. He did want to finish watching with Raleigh. But he wanted those arms back around him more. His skin still felt... tingly. Almost cold. He wanted--

"Chuck, can I...?"

Relief swept through him. "Please?"

Strong arms wrapped loosely around him, and he snuggled into the embrace with a sigh. The bloke was a goddamn mind-reader, and Chuck had never been more glad of it than now. Even with his nerves still confused, even with his hard-on still throbbing for his attention, he felt... safe.

"Should I back it up to where we were?"

The intuitive bastard stroked his fingers through Chuck's hair. "Or you could just start it over?"

Grinning against the two-textured skin of the bloke's chest, Chuck obliged.


	18. Chapter 18

No way in hell could Herc stay away, knowing his stand-offish, difficult, but no longer caustic son had been on a goddamn date last night. He managed to keep himself busy all morning by hitting an art supply store, buying everything on the list he'd received from the art department at the university, and taking Max for not one but two separate walks to the dog park. By afternoon, he was ready to vibrate out of his skin, so he picked up the poor, tuckered-out puppy and walked to Chuck's flat.

It didn't occur to him until he was ready to knock that his son might be... busy. Might already have company.

This hadn't been a concern in the past. Huh.

Too late now.

Mentally shrugging off the quandary, he corralled Max under one arm and knocked.

"Oi, just come in!"

If the kid had company, he apparently didn't mind more, so Herc did as he normally would and strolled right in. He had to stop just inside with his hand on the door, though, his eyes closing in bliss as he inhaled deep and slow.

"Jesus, kid. What the hell are you making?"

"Not sure, actually. Sort of a cross between an Italian sausage roll and this herb bread recipe I found last week. The usual hodge-podge, yeah?"

Max whined and squirmed to be let down, so he reluctantly shook off his food-induced stupor and shut the door behind him. The second the little sod's paws touched the floor, he was off like a shot across the room and around the counter to start yapping at Chuck's feet. Herc smiled at the immediate grin on his kid's face as he made his way over to the kitchen. The dimples were pure Angela, and he hadn't seen them nearly often enough.

Maybe that, too, was changing for the better.

"Not picking you up until this thing's in the oven, yeah? No one wants dog hair in their food."

Unimpressed, Max grumbled and hopped up to lean his front paws on Chuck's calves.

"Oi! Watch it, now." Indeed, the kid actually looked a bit harassed and quickly shoved the sizzling skillet full of ground meat a little further onto the range. "I drop this pan, and you won't have any skin left to roast, ya wanker."

"I got him." Herc bent down and plucked the wriggly little bastard away, trying to get a good grip on the squirming body without hurting him. "Oi, calm down, ya little monster. You've already had walkies twice today. You should be damn near comatose."

"Thanks, Dad. I keep draining the grease off, but it's sausage, yeah? Just keeps making more."

It took a moment, but Max finally seemed to realize he wouldn't be getting his favorite bellyrubs just yet and settled down with a disappointed whine.

"Whatever it is, it smells amazing." And he'd been good long enough. "Special occasion?"

Holy shit. Herc had never seen his son smile like that. Not even as a kid.

"I told Raleigh I'd make dinner if he didn't have plans today. Turns out, he didn't."

His kid was goddamn adorable. He loved seeing him like this.

Grinning, he leaned a hip on the counter, switching Max to his other arm to keep him away from the food. "I reckon the date went all right then?"

Still beaming, the adorable git went back to adding herbs and spices and witchcraft to the skillet. "It was amazing. Not even gonna lie. We ate at that Italian place and talked the whole time, then came back here and watched _Blade Runner."_

It didn't sound like much, but Herc assumed a few things might have been left out for his benefit. And he appreciated it. Plus, the pair managing to talk the whole time they were out together in public at a restaurant was a feat in and of itself. He didn't need the details to know why his kid was practically glowing.

"Sounds like a top night."

He wanted to ask more -- were they officially dating, did Chuck feel like they had a real chance, would they be hanging out all the time or were they easing up to spending time together -- but he thought Chuck would tell him on his own. All in good time.

So, he grinned. "When is he coming over? Should I head out and let you finish up?"

He almost didn't want to go. Not only did he want to see how the silly sods interacted for himself, but he really, really wanted to eat whatever the hell Chuck was putting together.

But Chuck's eyebrows shot up, and he paused his stirring. "Oh. Actually, if you want... I mean, he's bringing his brother along, so you could...?"

Herc's heart did a weird twisting thing that almost hurt but also left him feeling warm and soft all over. Chuck didn't want him to hurry off. Had, in fact, assumed he would stay on his own.

How had they come so far in such a short time when Herc had been all but convinced they'd never get on? Jesus, he felt like someone had handed him the secret to life itself. He almost didn't know what to do with it.

But he didn't want to get too mushy and maybe ruin the moment, so he swallowed it down for later consideration and cleared his throat.

"If you're sure?"

The smile came back, though only in kilowatts instead of megawatts this time. "I'm sure. You think I wanna eat leftovers all week?"

"I would."

He would, too. Suddenly, it occurred to him that his son was wearing... blue. His kid never wore blue. He didn't even know Chuck owned anything blue besides a few pairs of jeans.

Before he could think better of it, the question popped out. "Is that a new shirt?"

Blushing, the kid glanced down at the button-up with the sleeves rolled past his forearms. "Uh... yeah, actually. I had to hit the grocery anyway, so I went one over and bought a few things. And... y'know. Don't wanna look like a soup sandwich when I meet someone new, yeah?"

_Oh, Chuck._

Amused but trying to hide it, he rolled his eyes and hesitantly put Max down, eyeing him to make sure he didn't go running over to try and climb Chuck like a tree again. Apparently chastened, the little bugger wandered off into the living room to investigate any new scents.

Still blushing a bit, Chuck finally deemed his sausage concoction ready and slid it to another burner, reaching to turn off the hot one. He already had some kind of dough rolled out on the counter, its depths speckled with herbs and God knew what else. Herc didn't question it. His kid knew how to cook better than Herc ever would.

"So... he's bringing his brother?"

That layer of shredded mozerella was frankly irresponsible. Good thing neither of them were lactose intolerant. Were either of the brothers? Did Chuck know?

"Yeah. Apparently, the bloke is curious as hell since you showed up at their flat yesterday morning."

It was delivered with a less-blushy smirk, so Herc didn't bother feeling sheepish. "Guess I've technically met him, then, though I didn't catch a name." He paused and tilted his head. "Nice-looking bloke, though. Looks a lot like Raleigh, but... not older, really. Maybe more mature?"

Chuck's eyes narrowed, and he paused with the sausage skillet in hand. "Dad, no."

He blinked. "No what?"

"Do not get any ideas about Raleigh's brother."

His face suddenly felt hot, and he shifted awkwardly. Had he been thinking...?

The kid put the pan back down and propped his hands on his hips, facing him fully. "Dad, _no._ Don't even think about dating my first goddamn boyfriend's goddamn brother!"

"Oi, you think you're the only Hansen with a soft spot for blonde hair and blue eyes?" Was it too far? They'd made such strides.... "How d'you think I picked your mum?"

He held his breath, but Chuck brushed this away.

"Don't try to sidetrack. You cannot date Yancy Becket. I'm drawing a line in the sand." The poor sod crossed his arms. "It'd be weird."

So relieved he was almost giddy, he huffed. "How so?"

The overdramatic little shite threw his hands in the air. "Because it'd make Raleigh my uncle, ya wanker!"

Holy shit. He hadn't even considered that.

And he was laughing before he could think better of it. Even when his irritated brat of a son thwapped him on the arm, then went back to building his masterpiece, he laughed, leaning against the counter with it. Max waddled back in from the living room, head cocked in confusion at the sound, but that only made it funnier somehow.

Most of that laughter was a sense of lightness so tangible he could almost fly about the room with it. Herc felt like he'd finally shrugged off a burden he'd carried so long that he hadn't even noticed the weight until it was gone.

Because they were going to be okay. _Everything_ was going to be okay.

If he could slip in a comment about Angela without the whole house of cards falling down, there was no more house of cards. If he could deliberately irritate his son and it was still just a joke, they were doing something right.

If he could be this happy over something as dumb as even the _dog_ realizing that this much laughter was unusual, everything was goddamn dandy.

But the laughter finally cycled down, leaving him lightheaded and leaning against the counter as Chuck spooned the sausage over the mozerella, added even more cheese, and rolled the whole thing together like a jelly roll. Working with an engineer's efficiency of movement, the kid sealed the seams, laid it smooth-side-up on a cookie sheet, and sliced three quick slashes across the top. After brushing some sort of liquid over the top -- butter? egg? oil? witchcraft? -- he slid the whole thing into the oven, then washed his hands.

"Right. That'll be a bit." Grinning, Chuck finally squatted down. "Come and get it, ya silly sod."

Max was apparently incapable of holding a grudge, because he panted happily, tongue lolling, as he trotted over and sprang into the kid's arms. It was fucking adorable, and Herc felt himself beaming down on them, not at all caring that he probably looked like the silliest git under the sun.

He was happy, dammit. He was by-God going to enjoy it.

So he did. He enjoyed when Chuck directed him to toss the greens for the salad whilst the kid set the asparagus to steam. He enjoyed the mouth-watering scents of spiced sausage and herbed bread baking together and filling the whole flat. He enjoyed when the doorbell rang and both Chuck and Max perked up and Herc couldn't tell which one's tail was wagging more.

Just... when the introductions were made and all four of them sat around Chuck's table and dug in, it felt like a real family dinner. He and Chuck had tried all these years. They'd even gotten close recently. But with just the two of them, it was hard.

But this? Raleigh and Yancy almost immediately comfortable enough to joke and snark, like they'd always been here? Chuck giving as good as he got and threatening to withhold dessert if they didn't shut up and eat already? Max trotting from new scent to new scent to old scents and back again, his little butt wagging back and forth because his tail just wasn't getting it done?

 _This_ was family dinner. Jesus, how did he ever get so lucky?

"You're coming, right, Dad?"

He blinked, immediately aware that he'd been woolgathering and likely smiling sappily at the group. "Sorry, I missed it."

The kid punched him lightly on the arm, grinning with those ridiculous dimples. "Yance works at the planetarium. He can get us into the big galaxy display thing this afternoon if we want to go."

Tamping down a grin, he shook his head at the indicated brother. Who looked a lot better when he wasn't eyeing Herc with well-earned suspicion. In fact, the bloke was easily as pretty as his brother, but in a classier, more Cary Grant sort of way.

Which was beside the point.

"Don't tell me, mate. _Please,_ not another space nerd."

Two sets of blond eyebrows rose, but Chuck just shook his head and smirked.

"Seriously, Chuck is a space nerd. His mother was a space nerd."

"Oi!"

"Her parents were space nerds--"

"They watched the lunar landing on telly! That shit was history in the making!"

"--and if I have to watch one more episode of _Star Trek--"_

The brothers Becket both perked up, and Raleigh reached over and actually grasped Chuck's bicep.

"Chuck, don't play with me. Are you a Trekkie? Because I need you to be a Trekkie."

But Chuck just winked. "I got you, love. Marathon?"

Yancy muttered around a mouthful he'd just forked in. "After the planetarium."

"Right."

The conversation moved on to favorite episodes, but Herc wasn't actually annoyed. This was maybe the best day since... hell, since Chuck was born? Since his first birthday? Since the kid awkwardly threw his arms around Herc's waist after a quiet dinner out?

He didn't even know. He just felt... normal. Blissfully, perfectly normal, like he'd been granted a second chance at a family and had somehow, miraculously taken that chance.

Chuck had one more cuddle therapy session and perhaps a year left at university. He had a good, solid bloke for a boyfriend, was visibly easier with casual contact and affection, and had nowhere to go but up when he finished his degrees. Herc had an amazing son who he felt like he was finally beginning to know, two new kids to adopt and fuss over, art classes starting the next semester, and a loyal -- if currently overstimulated and tuckered-out -- puppy dozing off and slumped over his boot.

And, since he'd eaten too much and was uncomfortably full, he realized he was finally capable of leaning back in a comfortable chair without it being a surrender, a sign of weakness. He no longer felt like being a civilian was a bad thing. As he looked around the table at the little family gathering -- Raleigh and Yancy shoving at each other and laughing, Chuck grinning with those goddamn dimples of his, the occasional casual reaching out for contact that his kid didn't even seem aware of -- he thought maybe he owed Stacker Pentecost that bottle of Scotch, after all.

Life... was _good._

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe it was kinda fun to write, after all. I think we can all agree that Chuck needs hugs, and that he and Herc need to fix their shit, and that Raleigh would be one helluva cuddle therapist who would probably be booked into next century.
> 
> If you made it this far, thanks for sticking with me! I blame the Three Amigos up there in the "gifted to" section for this!


End file.
